Whispers from the Trees
by Firetoflame
Summary: After thirty years the Enchanted Forest is a very different place. A dangerous place. When Regina falls victim to an ambush on their traveling party, it is up to a handsome thief to come to her rescue. 3B missing year. Slightly AU. 100% OutlawQueen.
1. Chapter 1

They come like whispers from the trees. Men from shadow. A band of outlaws. Come to plunder the royals who have only just arrived in this realm for the first time in almost thirty years. At least, that's what Regina assumes when she sees the cloth masks and drawn arrows.

"Tis a dangerous place you enter my friends."

Friends? Regina's eyebrows arch delicately. This man has some nerve. Or a death wish, neither she cares for at this point in time.

He lowers his mask and drops the hood on his cloak. Piercing blue eyes take them in, wise, inquisitive, and if Regina doesn't know any better, nosy. "But perhaps we are the ones who should be fearful, for both Snow White and the Queen have entered our forest. No one has seen or heard from either in years. Is it wise to assume you bring trouble in your midst?"

"How dare—" A calming hand finds its way to her shoulder. Regina looks over at Snow and sees the smallest of head shakes. She is jealous of that poised calm her step-daughter seems to emulate when they are in trouble. That doe-eyed innocence that causes her to pause before acting, give allowance, where Regina would simply act.

She turns back to the assuming stranger. She would show him what trouble was. Her hands already burn. Fire seething her veins. Power clawing for release. Waiting—wanting—to wipe the cocky smirk from his face.

"Please," Prince Charming begins, interrupting her silent, deadly musings. They do make quite the pair, Snow, so patient it's almost poetic, and her Charming, the charismatic leader. It's no wonder they found each other. Continue to find each other. "We want no trouble, only safe passage to our castle."

"Then you have indeed stumbled upon the right place." The outlaw turns with a crooked smile, gesturing widely with his arms. Drawing in a breath, as if they should bow down in reverence of the dirt they stand in. "Welcome my friends," he says, "to Sherwood Forest."

* * *

It is after hours of trudging behind a band of grimy men that Regina considers the Saviour's partiality for jeans and high boots. Without a carriage to transport her, a gown of this magnitude is just a nuisance and she wishes to just poof it away and find herself in something akin to sweats, but that would mean acknowledging the world and the life she has just lost and that she cannot not do. Not only for her sake, but for Snow's. These thoughts put her in a sour mood.

"I don't know why you've enlisted the help of criminals to get back to our castle," she says. She's irritated and hungry and has sweat more than a Queen ever should in her lifetime. The trees grow thick around them, the trail steep, and all the while it appears they are turning in circles, being led on a chase by a band of fools. Maybe it was them who were the fools then, to have agreed to this in the first place.

"They are not criminals, Regina." Snow's voice is quiet, her eyes darting, afraid some sudden offence might cause the band of ragged men to toss them out.

Regina gestures to the man up front, the leader it seems. The one who speaks and whistles and gives orders with a flick of his wrist. She watches the men disappear and reappear between trees at his wishes. Scouts she presumes, much like the ones Charming continuously sends out, though they tend to take longer and longer to find their way back to the group. She watches the leader of these merry men again. He smiles and nods and it feels very calculated, like he knows he's being watched. "He is a thief," she whispers hoarsely.

Snow sighs, one of her forlorn and painfully annoying sounds. To make matters worse she reaches for Regina's hand and squeezes it between her own. "I was not very different from him once." This does nothing to assure Regina. "Besides, we've been gone a long time. The Enchanted Forest is a different place than we remember."

Regina hums as she considers this. The place they called home for all those years felt no different to her. She could sense the majesty and magic of the place. It may be full of all sorts of forgotten creatures and mislead people, but this place remained as it always had, ancient and enchanted. She feels it in the depths of her feet, coursing up through her veins.

She cuts across the caravan with her eyes once again, gaze lingering on the fair-haired leader with the bow strapped to his back. He's watching her from under his hood. And now that he's been caught, he smiles. The gesture freezes her for a moment as she stares, stunned. His smile is breathtaking. The dimples in his cheeks deep. His chin wide and strong. She can feel a blush. A stupid, unprovoked rush of blood to her cheeks and she swears she sees him laugh.

She turns away, silent annoyance beading at the base of her throat. She does not wish to talk to Snow or to stare at the stranger any longer. But one of the two she can't avoid, and she wonders silently who this Robin Hood really is.

And why his smile has her heart beating wildly.

* * *

It is nearly nightfall when they finally stop and the outlaw camp is still nowhere in sight. A day's journey yet, she overhears.

Gods she misses her car.

And her mansion.

And everything else this world seems to be missing, most of all Henry. She would trade it all just to have him back in her arms. To feel his face between her hands and run her fingers through his hair, insisting he get it cut. And watch as he struggles with his math homework, waiting for the inevitable moment when he asks her to help. To see him smile. And to hear _I love_ _you_ fall from his lips as she turns out his lights before bed.

She would trade her heart for that in an instant. Make a deal with the devil.

While contemplating such a deal she stands awkwardly, watching people bustle around her. People who seem to be at ease, knowing exactly what to do as night falls and blue becomes navy inked with flickering stars. She missed the stars of this world. The quiet peace of the night, and when she looks up she is content, until the grumbles of tired people who are hungry for a meal they cannot prepare and fighting over sleeping arrangements reaches her ears, and suddenly she's very much out of place. In the way. She uses the grumbling chaos of the moment to make an escape. She wanders a little ways, peeking back over her shoulder. No one would notice, nor would they mind if she slipped away for awhile. She wants time to think. To understand. To just miss Henry without Snow looking worried or concerned or heartbroken, because he is her family too. And Regina must come to terms with that now too, they are a family. Strange and mixed up and not always understanding, but a family. Through blood. Through love. Through everything.

Regina has stopped on the edge of a ravine, overlooking a deep, dark lake. It is not without reason that she has stopped. She crosses her arms and twists her lips, still undecided on a smirk or a frown. "Is there a reason you insist on following me?"

"Pretty ladies shouldn't wander alone."

She looks over her shoulder to find the thief. Robin Hood. She is not surprised to see him. She's sensed him for a while now, despite his quiet footfalls and shadow like movements. "I am not afraid," she tells him.

"There are things that wander the night alongside you, Milady. Darkness you cannot see."

His words are not meant to scare, at least she doesn't think so, and either way she is not frightened by his words or his tone or the fact that his bow is drawn. "Darkness does not worry me as it does you. I am the Evil Queen."

He grins under the stars and it is just as bright as it had been earlier in the day. Just as deep and just as wide. His head tilts thoughtfully as he assess her, making a circle around her. The movement sends shivers up and down her spine. "Evil doesn't seem to become you here," he says finally, seemingly satisfied with his inspection.

"It did once," she says wryly. "I'm sure it will again." Her voice is saddened. "In time."

"Something's are lost to us in time. They cannot be what they once were." There is a silent wisdom to the words that Regina cannot argue because, for everything she knows, Henry is lost to her and they will never be what they once were because she had sacrificed the thing she loved most to save them all. With few words he escorts her back to her tent, the one Snow has made sure is ready for her. For she is still the Queen and it is assumed she still expects such things. The man bows low as they part. "Good night, Milady."

"Good night, thief." She leaves him at the mouth of the tent, with what she thinks is a smile still on his lips. She is confused by him and intrigued and immensely tired, too tired in fact to deliberate such confusing things, so she thinks sleep is the best solution to all her problems for one night.

Regina has barely removed her cloak, folding the heavy fur to the side of her sleeping roll when the first screams echo in the night. What now? she thinks. The day has been long and tiresome enough.

She emerges to the smell of burnt linen and smoke. It is everywhere, engulfing the camp, thick and heavy on her lungs. It burns her eyes, ash and soot clouding her sight. There is chaos outside her tent and arrows spinning on the night air. They soar past her head, breaking time and space. The camp is under attack, she realizes. _There are things that wander the night alongside you. _What sorts of things, thief? she now wonders.

A set of heavy footsteps invade her space from behind. She is aware of the men, only men, but it still causes her fear, perhaps because they invade in the dead of night, in a camp full of woman and children, and the hair on the back of her neck is standing up, before she has even turned to face their slimy grins.

"Look who we've got here," says the gravely voice, that cuts like ice. "Why it's the Queen."

The blow to her back is what sends her to the ground. Sprawled out on her hands and knees she coughs.

Another to the side of her head sends her mind spinning. Angry hands grab for her waist, yanking her up and dragging her towards the trees.

"Regina!" a voice calls. It is deep and worried. The Prince has seen.

She makes to cry out but a crushing hand wraps around her windpipe. She struggles for breath, never mind to talk. There is only darkness where they take her, mouth gagged, hands bounds. No doubt they have cruel intentions waiting for her in the darkness of the night. If only she could keep her eyes open, remember how to work the magic that is springing at her fingertips, but her mind is fog and rain, and all is lost.

When she wakes it is to a rough slap across the face. The hours must have waned in the dark for the birds are up, twittering in the trees above, and it reminds her of Snow for a blinding moment before the pain sets in. The force of the slap sends her head spinning in the wrong direction, her ears ringing. The skin along her cheek is on fire, white and blistering. She feels the hot tears stream down her face.

But with the tears comes clarity, sudden and sure and a flaming ball of fire erupts from her bound hands, slamming into the chest of her first captor. The fire melts the bonds on her hands, frees her from her restraints. She pulls the gag from her mouth, tasting fire and salt and anger on her tongue.

She argues within herself now. She can kill these men. With thoughts and magic they will be no more, just another distant memory she longs to forget. They deserve it. For tonight alone, the attack on the camp, the damage they have caused there, the way they have treated her. She can take revenge for it all. Right now. But a still small voice halts her. Asks for pause. It is Henry, or disguised as such, speaking right in her ear, beginning for a chance.

Perhaps like her, these men deserve a second chance. Perhaps they have already taken it. Wasted it. But who is she to make that decision. A free woman. She is no longer their captive. With shaking legs she backs up from the two remaining men. Curious, dangerous expressions crossing their faces. "There doesn't need to be any more bloodshed," she says, still backing away, almost tripping on the body of the scalded man. "Just leave," she tells them, turning from them, praying they do the same. She keeps walking, head held high, between the trees, feeling disoriented and tired and scarred.

She walks briskly, as steadily as she can with weak knees and a throbbing heart. When she's put some distance between them she pauses for a breath, one to clear her mind, prepare her to transport herself back to the group. Finding people in a forest she knows very little of, concealed in a cloud of purple magic will be a task on its own, requiring all her will power. It is in this steadying moment that the arrow strikes her true, whistling between two bent birches. It drives beneath her rib cage, somewhere near a lung and she doubles over screaming. Her hands fly out, looking for stability, some way to starve off the pain, but the only thing she manages is to send fire back across the forest. She knows her aim is on target when the men scream their death, flesh falling from bone under the curse of her fire. She doesn't even flinch when they beg, can barely breathe for trying with the arrow cutting her so deep.

With the last of her strength she disappears under her magic, searching for a clear landing spot. She does not know where she falls, does not care enough to look. The pain is too much to handle out here on her own, and for a moment she wonders if death will be the cure she seeks. The balm for her bruised heart, the salve for her tainted soul, the remedy to her sorrow. The one escape from a love she can never have again.

Henry, she thinks as the world fades to black once more. The break of dawn happens just as her eyes close and there's warmth and light behind her eyes and she thinks that this indeed is better than anything she might have otherwise hoped for. Alone in the dark she is warm and Henry is here, in her mind, and maybe she feels happy.

Or maybe death is simply making a fool of her.

For she is a villain and she can never be happy.

* * *

**So . . . reviews are always nice :D**


	2. Chapter 2

She rises with the dawn only short moments after collapsing. Is it the voices she can hear nearby or an inner resolve telling her she must tend to her injury?

Regina rolls to her knees, stomach twisting in tight knots, and with a great, painful breath, pushes herself to her feet. She recognizes the place in the light; the ravine is behind her, and the calm, black lake shining under the first rays of sun to her left.

Camp is close. The sudden realization brings her relief and floods her with an internal desire to right herself as quickly as possible. To do away with the vile shaft that is protruding through her dress. She will not show weakness. Not another reason to have these people stare and gawk and gossip. She is the Queen. They must not forget that.

With tentative hands she grabs the stalk of the arrow, settling them securely over the shaft. She yanks it from her abdomen without a thought, knowing procrastination will only make the act more unbearable. Teeth bite into plush skin. Her lower lip bleeds. She groans and looks down, a rush of air escaping her now that the deed is done.

She turns the shaft between her fingers, studies it in the new morning light, stretching her arms to roll the thin arrow in the shadow of the sun. It is with this movement that she feels the rush of blood along her stomach, soaking her dress a deep crimson. But that matters not when she looks at the arrow tip. It is black, as black as the space between stars, and covered in a dark purple ink, something that smells vile and dead. She gasps, letting the shaft slip to her palm. It burns her outstretched hand and, when her face contorts in confusion and anger, crumbles to ash.

There is a magic linked to the weapon that has struck her. Something dark. Something she doesn't understand.

The thought terrifies her. The idea of magic, her greatest ally, used in darkness against her is one of her greatest fears.

Regina's hand shakes. Turns over, pouring the ash onto the forest floor. It settles and burns beneath the leaf bedding, devouring the ground as it goes.

What is this poison? she wonders.

With her other hand she grabs the wound that is now pulsing just below her ribs, hot streams of blood leaving her body with every contraction of the muscle. She closes her eyes, and recites under her breath. Healing magic is foreign to her. A distant memory of yellowed pages in old books. A kind of magic Rumplestiltskin never deemed fit to dwell on. To teach her. What she knows she has learned on her own. Taught herself. Out of necessity.

There is a glowing heat beneath her palm and slowly the black stain of infection sinks away. The skin closes beneath her hand, the flesh healed.

She summons her cloak from her tent by magic, feeling suddenly heavy and weighted, probably exhaustion, and wraps it around her, to hide the tear in the dress and begins the journey back to the camp. As she approaches the voices grow louder.

"Regina! Gods, are you okay? We were just about to come for you," Snow begins, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine, dear. You didn't think a couple of woodland thugs would be enough to do me in?"

"Robin says they are very dangerous."

"Perhaps that would have been sound advice prior to the attack," she remarks, hopping the scoundrel is within ear shot. "I've come to that conclusion myself already." She walks to the center of the camp. There are bodies laid out in neat rows of three. The dead she presumes. She cannot help them. Not anymore.

"How many wounded?" she asks, turning when she receives no answer. Snow is just behind her, hands wrapped around her elbows, face long and distraught. She stares at Regina with those wide doe-eyes, like her head is not her own.

Regina sighs and says again, "How many wounded, dear?" It is as gentle as she can be when she feels as she does. There is a fire in her belly and swelling, something she understands that is not right, but she pushes those thoughts away. Perhaps she will take another look later, try the spell again. Healing took time. Something she had not afforded herself with.

Snow shakes her head, long waves of hair coming loose beneath her cloak. Her mouth opens just a fraction. But she doesn't speak.

"Snow?"

"Seventeen injured. But it is the wolf-girl who has been injured most, Milady."

Regina turns at the sound of his voice. The thief. She hadn't noticed him come up, though she presumes that years of thieving is at play and not some dubious desire to eavesdrop. Besides, his men were caught in the attack as well. Lived and died alongside Charming's knights. There must be some sort of honor that they live by.

Snow breaks her silence, her pale face twisting with tears. "Ruby hasn't transformed back. Granny thinks the wolf is the only thing keeping her alive."

"Not if I can help it," Regina mumbles.

Robin leads the way. Snow trails behind, sniffling now. Her armor is down, the tears flowing freely, so Regina holds her head up, being royalty enough for the both of them.

They make their way to the edge of the clearing, a dark place with twisted trees and tangles of vine-like webbing. It is colder here, Regina thinks. Like death is waiting.

At the base of a wide, gnarled tree lays the wolf. Her eyes are closed, her massive stomach shuddering with forced breath. The labored inhalations that struggle to the lungs right before passing. Granny stands by the head, hands tracing a path along the wolf's forehead and down her snout. It wrenches Regina's heart, to see Granny prepare to lose a child. For that is what Ruby is to her. And though their differences have been many over the years, Regina is not prepared to let anyone else suffer the way she does, with mere memories of a child she will never see again.

"Regina," Granny says as she turns. It is a plea, one that sticks firmly in Regina's chest, like a dagger running deep, and for a moment it is enough to push her own pain aside.

Regina steps next to the wolf. Granny's hands fall away. She backs into Snow and the two woman stand watch, with the thief waiting in the trees. Regina lowers her head to the wolf's ear and whispers to her. "Not today Ruby," she says. And the flutter under the wolf's eyelids is enough to assure her. There is still enough fight left within her.

Regina places her hands along the wolf's chest. She can feel the hurt now, her magic slithering and tasting, like a snake flicking its tongue. Each pass reveals some new damage. A broken rib, a punctured lung. Torn arteries. She is bleeding within. Her belly fills with bile.

Regina begins. Silent enchantments fall from her lips, like murmurs on the wind. Her eyes travel the course her magic runs, only leaving the russet fur when her gaze senses something in the trees ahead of her. Over the wolf she sees the thief. He has moved, closer and closer, weaving his way through the trees.

With his eyes on her it is harder to concentrate and she doesn't know why. He looks worried, frightened perhaps that this will not work. She clenches her jaw, the last of the enchantment falling from her lips. There is a pounding in her head, right above her eyes, but she is so close she dare not stop.

Like invisible thread the magic weaves, straightening bones and closing holes where there ought not be holes. Regina's grip grows weak, but she does not break, only digs her fingers deeper into the wolf's fur. Her hands glow a mixture of purple and gold, her own dark magic fusing with that of the healing enchantment she has cast. With one final surge, the magic stops, basking the wolf in a blinding white light. As it fades, Regina falls to her knees, her hands to longer pressed against sticky, blood-soaked fur, but along the thin stitching of a honey colored gown. Ruby's gown.

She is back.

"Oh thank you," Snow cries, arms wrapping around Regina's neck from behind. It is a tearful and wet embrace. Regina pats her step-daughters hand and then rises to her own feet, finding the task more difficult that it should be. Working on Ruby in wolf form has drained her more than she expected.

She turns to find Granny waiting, a warm smile spread on her lips. "Thank you," she says, knowing words are not nearly enough, but with a nod Regina accepts them.

"She will need rest," she replies. "And water. But she will be fine. The bones are healed. The damage is repaired."

"Oh, Red," Snow cries again, happiness flooding her voice as the girl begins to stir.

With that Regina moves away, leaving old friends to their own small victory. She waits just beyond the trees for the thief to join her. His shadow has become somewhat of a constant as of late and she knows he will not stay far.

"Where are the others?" she says moments later.

Wordlessly he takes her, leading her through the heart of the camp.

She swallows when they reach the tent and Robins pulls aside the leather doorway. It is much worse than she imagined. Seventeen had not seemed so large a number in her head, but splayed out in front of her, blood and bandages and cries of pain, it seems like a lot. Will she be enough? Can she do this on her own?

"Are you sure you feel up to this, Milady?"

"Yes, of course," Regina says, burying her own reservations if only to dispel his. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Just a question," Robin says.

She frowns at him, him and his knowing glances, but deep inside she knows it is just a question. One that has struck too close. On any normal day, this would have been child's play, but today is not a normal day, for Regina doesn't feel normal, but heavy and slow, like lead clings to the magic in her veins.

She sets off briskly, throwing herself into the work at hand. So much magic is expelled inside the tent, Regina is in awe that it simply doesn't lift up and float away. She works endlessly, healing and mending. Staunching bleeds. Closing cuts. Reviving those that have blacked out from pain and offering relief to those still fighting it.

The work is beyond tiring. Gratifying in a way she is not used to, but requires every facet of her concentration, and that wears her down quickly.

"Alright?" Robin says, reaching for her arm to steady her as she works to repair a particularly nasty wound.

Regina shrugs him off, wiping away the sweat that has pooled on her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Yes," she says. She closes her eyes, wishing the throbbing in her head away, if only for a little longer. She has almost finished.

With a trembling jaw she completes the task. It is not superb work, but wounds are closed and bones pulled straight. It is enough for the injured to be transported, which quickly becomes the next order of business.

She emerges outside just after the thief; it appears he is always leading her somewhere. The day bright and her eyes weary against it after the dim surroundings inside the tent. She shields her face with her arm and it is the thief's shadow ahead of her that allows her to drop her hand. He is tall. At least a foot more than she, and his broad shoulders are enough to break up the sun that bleeds through the trees.

Her head swoons. Her body aches, but she stands firm, fingers clenched around her elbows. The crowd of people grows nervous and thick, angry voices, scared voices burning her ears. They are anxious, some for revenge and some for comfort.

She wills herself to stay standing now that her head spins. Eyes close tight. The light is still too much.

The thief moves closer, casting her into complete shadow and she almost leans into him, if only to see black through her eyelids, but Charming's voice has her eyes open once more, stinging against the day.

"We must move from this place," he says. "It is dangerous to stay. The wounded shall be carried on stretchers. Those able to wield a sword will walk a patrol to the left and right and flank of the group."

Regina turns to the thief, the other leader of this mixed-up caravan. He merely nods in agreement.

It takes the camp a half-hour to pack up and assemble in a line. The horses that came with Robin's men are divided among those that can ride. Those that are left without wounds. Or without task. The royals. Some of Robin's group. Women. Children.

Regina is sound on the horse. A beautiful black mare. She is at home in a way that brings comfort through her pain. The pain in her head. The pain in her stomach. She lets the back and forth of the mare's sway put her in a trance. She can feel the way the ground slopes from up here, can hear the quiet hum of the birds above. She is calm through it all. Maybe even content, just to sit. And be. If anything else were required of her she might not be so reserved, but this she can manage, she thinks. To ride is like breathing to her. And so far she has done both.

She licks her lips, reminding her how dry they are, how parched her throat is. The ache travels deep into her lungs and still below, to the place where the arrow pierced her, as if the wound was leeching all the moisture from her body.

"Milady, is everything alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Pardon my insistence, but you do not look alright. Your skin is pale and flushed with sweat. Surely you'd like someone to take a look at you. Many did not fare well in the battle; no one would think less of you." The thief has appeared from nowhere, like a whisper from the trees, and he doesn't mean to leave. No, indeed not. He walks with her and waits. "We could stop," he says. "Surely the group would like a break."

"I am fine," Regina repeats, annoyed and frustrated at his insistence. The heat beneath her ribs scratches upon her skin like twin daggers. Sharp and forever etching deeper. She whimpers, a shallow, uncontrollable release of breath. And Robin looks over. He memorizes her face. The hollow of her cheeks as she bites away the pain. The concern on her brow. The panic in her eyes. Then his gaze falls to her hand, tucked tight against the wound under her ribs, afraid to let go for fear the pain will spread. Flame out like fire on tinder.

"You are not alright," he whispers, grabbing for her horse. There is impatience and worry mixed in his voice. He mutters under his breath, calling her stubborn and thick-headed and a whole manner of things her old self would have killed him on the spot for, had she been well enough, and had she not been seeing double of him for the past hour. She closes her eyes. Lids pressed tightly together. She can feel the tears build behind them, hot walls of water.

But she will not cry. Not in front of these people.

"We will camp here for the night!" she hears Robin call, giving a whistled command to all his men.

"Don't," Regina begins. They are close. She knows that. Less than a half day's journey. And they still have the light.

"The people are tired," the thief reasons. "And far less stubborn than you." He moves to step away, seeing the Prince approach for a word.

Regina grimaces. She feels weight press behind her skull. Pounding and ringing. "Don't," she says again, this time because he means to move away. She leans, her horse following the change in weight.

Sensing the shift behind him, Robin turns, hands immediately reaching for the reins, steering the horse on a straight path. He looks at Regina with worried eyes. Her face is gaunt, stretched in a pallor of grays and greens. It is a dark sickness. "Milady?"

Regina can hear his voice, but that is all. Her vision has turned from spotty to black. Each ray of light warps to shadow, each tree and leaf and upturned rock a muddle of ink and darkness.

"Whoa," Robin calls to the horse as Regina pitches forward. Her eyes roll to the very back of her head, frightening white pools and her grip on the reigns falls slack.

Charming rides up alongside the horse quickly, taking the reins of the mare as Regina rolls to the side, right into Robin's embrace. He catches her soundly, having been prepared for something like this. Despite her best efforts and the masks she 's applied, he knew she had been injured, had seen her arrive on the edge of the ravine, arrow wedged deep in her gut. He had watched with fearful eyes as she pulled the tip from her skin. Heard her cry out and watched her bleed.

He lowers them to the ground, splaying Regina out on her back. Quickly he undoes the button on the front of her cloak.

"What are you doing?" Snow gasps, dropping from her horse by Regina's side.

"She is injured, princess," Robin explains is short breaths. He is tearing against furs. "A smugglers arrow has pierced her skin. I need to know where."

"What does it matter where?"

Robin's face is grim. "They lace their arrows in poison. If it was too close to her heart we might already be too late."

Feeling along the deep red dress Robin's thumb hooks in the tear. Flipping his knife off his belt he shreds the tear further, revealing a pale patch of skin.

"She healed it," Snow says immediately, fingers inching forward onto the stitched mound of skin beneath Regina's rib cage. "With her magic."

Robin shakes his head, traces of panic evident in his face. "And doing so trapped the poison inside."

"Will she be okay?"

"We need to bleed as much of the poison from her as we can. It feeds off magic and will consume her otherwise."

Robin places his knife along her skin, the metal lethal against the delicate flesh, preparing to make the first cut. "I'm sorry, Milady. This will hurt."

"She's out cold," Snow says.

Robin grimaces, looks over his shoulder and beckons at Charming. "She won't be for long." He takes a deep breath. "Prince, princess," he orders, "hold her down."

Robin climbs across Regina, straddling her hips. He takes the knife with both hands and plunges it deep. Across the travelling party Regina's screams can be heard. It sends birds from their trees and children into a terrified frenzy. It has come without warning, except to the three who now hold down the Queen. The pain has brought her out of unconsciousness, only to toss her back when the agony becomes too great for her to bear. She fades again to the sound of Robin's quiet apologies, the words fleeing from his mouth faster than the poison from her blood. With steady hands he pushes against her skin, forcing the black blood from her veins. It comes like tar and stains her dress the colors of death. Between his fingers it runs, black and sticky, oozing disease. When her blood finally runs red he stops, shaken and exhausted. He orders a fire to be lit and for Charming to leave his sword atop the flames.

"What for?" Snow exclaims, fright and uncertainty staining her words in an unnatural pitch.

"We must seal her wound. The forest provides many things, princess, but it also harbors infection."

Snow opens her mouth to protest but with a shake of his head Robin silences her. "We must work quickly."

When the blade of the sword blazes red in the flames, Charming removes it and with shaking hands offers it to Robin with a defeated frown. He has done many things in his life, many horrible and difficult things, but this is something he cannot bring himself to do. The thief takes the sword, the hilt hot and heavy in his hand. One look at Regina sends his heart into his throat. Her lips are already raw from where she bit down once in agony. "I know I keep saying this Milady, but I am truly sorry." With a desperate glance he forces the blade against her skin, searing the flesh together.

Snow turns away, hands pressed to her mouth in horror, a subtle attempt at repressing the urge to vomit. Robin requires both of his to hold the sword steady, but breathes through his mouth to keep his wits. The scent of burning flesh fills the air and has already threatened to make his mind sick, but not once does Robin turn his sights from Regina. He watches her eyes twitch beneath their lids, some lost part of her sensing the pain, but she does not stir again from her sleep and perhaps that is for the best.

"Now what?" Charming asks Robin once Regina has been bandaged.

"We set up camp here for the night. She cannot be moved."

"Those smugglers cannot be far."

"I fear you are right."

"We'll take shifts then. My men will walk a perimeter."

"As will mine. I must stay by the Queen's side and monitor her. This poison works fast and harsh. Time will be of the essence if the poison should take hold of her."

"Very well," Charming says, his hand on Robin's shoulder. He nods understanding before offering Snow a hand. "Call out if you need us."

Robin nods and settles in beside Regina, his fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face. She is elegant, even in sleep, surely destined from birth for this royalty she has. But he sees nothing of this Evil in her now, nor can he understand how something so pure could be capable of such monstrous things, but he thinks, perhaps, that there are monsters in all men, there to protect from harm when the world should become too much. For Robin knows he himself has killed many a man to defend his group and to keep his son safe, and if self-preservation is only given in exchange for the title Evil, then there are many others in this world, himself included, who would bear the burden of this name. Many more than this beautiful woman before him.

* * *

**So . . . reviews are nice. :D**


	3. Chapter 3

It is some hours later, when the crickets are at their loudest that Snow and her Prince return to check on Regina. "Will she be alright?" the princess asks the thief. Her eyes are wide and her skin pale, but in her gaze Robin sees that she is only seeking the truth. She is strong and fights for what she loves and can handle the burden of the truth. This she tells him with the gentle hand that wraps around his own as she kneels beside the Queen.

"I fear the poison has already begun working its way towards her heart," Robin admits freely, glad to share the burden on his mind. The silent thought that has begun to twist his mind to nervous madness. "We removed most of it, but even the smallest trace left within will cause the body untold pain and suffering. It is a poison that works on the flesh as well as the mind."

"Yes, well, Regina has faced worse and emerged unscathed," Snow says.

"Then we should hope for the same here," Robin replies earnestly, taking refuge in her comforting words.

"Yes," Snow agrees with a gentle smile. "Hope." And hope she will, because that is something that she understands well.

The night runs its course with little interruption after that, besides the cacophony of bullfrogs that keep residence in a marsh just west of the camp. Their unsettling music does little to soothe the mind, but it tells both the thief and the prince that the night is calm and that there are no sleuthing figures in the darkness for surely the frogs would have descended into their watery home had there been people in the woods to disturb them.

With the safety of the camp resting easy on his mind, Robin seeks sleep and there are brief moments of dreamless slumber that accompany him to the waking of the sun. He gains little from the rest because he is determined to remain alert to Regina's every move. Though thoroughly tired, he awakes before her.

Beside her Robin remains still, unmoving, taking the moment to just absorb the tranquility of the scene before him.

In the soft glow of new morning Regina is quiet. And breathtakingly beautiful. The realization hits him hard and fast each time he finds her face which is more and more often now, out of pure selfish desire. He wants to look upon her. Needs to. Unexplainable as the pull is, this inner string that tethers him to her, he will not fight against it, but somehow for it. For the beauty that lies before him, ebony hair and dark red lips, is a rare gift that sets his heart on fire.

These thoughts make her current condition all the more pressing. Under it all, the beauty and the softness of sleep, her brow in pinched in some untold pain. He knows where it originates, but not what it causes. Nor how he should go about helping her. Unless he can coax the information from her, which he already senses will be nearly impossible; she will fight this pain, this poison, silently.

His hand falls to her forehead, the back of his palm searching her skin for unnatural heat. Fever. It is there, brimming under the surface, kept at bay by the cool of the night. His hand falls down her cheek, the soft skin sliding beneath his fingertips. To touch her like this, to be this close, surely wouldn't be permitted. She is the Queen. And as she has reminded him endlessly, he is a thief. But aside from that, she is skittish; beyond her hard exterior is a woman afraid of commitment and connection. A woman hurt, buried under years of misunderstanding and loss. He sees this in her.

He feels for her, for he once held his heart as tightly as she. Lost so gravely he felt he would never love again. But somehow his son had shown him how. Small Roland, still a babe back then, had helped him see that to love again would be possible.

With his soft strokes along her face Regina stirs. It is a slow arrival, full of confusion and eye batting.

She has long lashes, Robin notices, as he peers over her. They cast shadows across her high cheek bones.

When Regina finally focuses she regards him a moment. Doesn't flinch from his presence or push him away. Simply waits and watches.

When she is certain that he is content to simply stare at her, she clears her throat, washing away the bile and phlegm that has hardened there in her sleep. "What has happened?" she asks. Her voice comes out in scratches, her throat dry.

"There is a poison in your blood, Milady." Robin kneels beside her now. His voice is sympathetic but stern. Her disregard for her own health does not sit well with him. "You've been gravely injured."

She takes the information in with steady, calculated breaths, allowing enough air in to clear her mind, but not enough to expand her lungs and stretch her ribs.

"Nightlock," Robin continues. "The smugglers soak their arrows in a concentrated liquid version of the plant."

"You are quite versed on this particular poison."

"It is something my men and I have learned to be cautious of. A simple but effective weapon."

"And does this poison have a cure?" Regina asks, though by the grave look on his face she senses the answer is not good.

"There are rumors."

"But only rumors?"

"Yes," Robin admits.

"Very well," Regina says, steeling herself against the meaning behind his fraught expression.

There is one beat of silence. Two. It stretches so long Robin thinks she may rage in anger or cower and cry, but the Queen does neither, instead she moves, intending to sit up.

Immediately his hands are on her shoulders, holding her in place. "You must rest, Milady," he tells her. "Not exert yourself. And more than anything, you must not use your magic."

"Excuse me?" Regina says, using her own hands to remove his. "I am the Queen and can do as I please."

"It feeds on magic. The poison. Neither man nor magician are safe. And if you had only spoken of your injury earlier I would have insisted you never heal those people." There is urgency in Robin's voice, followed by regret and Regina will have none of it. She will not be pitied.

She sits up against his wishes, and against the straining pain running across her abdomen. "They would have died otherwise," she grits out.

Robin shakes his head. "You could have died. Your last exertion very nearly killed you."

"Very nearly," Regina scoffs. This man has no idea what a close call is. How many times she's already looked death in the face and laughed. "Some of those men were yours," she says, thinking back on the young faces she healed, boys that had barely become men, with their insides spilled across their cots.

"And they know the cost of being a warrior for justice," Robin says.

Regina scoffs again, then grimaces at the pain attached to the motion. "Is that what you see yourself as?" she says, pushing Robin's worried glance aside.

He frowns at her, unable to comprehend the lack of care or concern she provides herself with. "I can be more than a thief, Milady."

"Hm." It is the only answer Regina gives because she is still not quite sure of him herself. How she feels about his constant closeness. What the fluttering of her heart means. Whether her skin burns with fever or desire when he is around. Nothing about him makes sense, so she sends him off to be with his men. She has been minded enough for one morning, no doubt at the request of Snow. Surely the man deserves a break. Queens can be fickle, impossible, irrational people to deal with.

He leaves grudgingly and only because she expresses as desire to change her clothes.

After dressing and refusing breakfast because of the nausea she feels, Regina stands by her horse once more, preparing for another morning of trekking through the woods.

"She can't ride on her own," Snow says suddenly. Appearing around the side of the pretty black mare. Regina stops stroking the horse long enough to settle Snow with a disapproving glare, but her step-daughter continues. "She can barely hold her head up."

"I am fine to make my own way," Regina insists boldly. "It's not my first time on a horse."

"No one doubts your skill as a rider, Regina," Charming says, now siding with his wife. Though Regina expects nothing less. "We are merely concerned for your safety. You are still quiet ill."

The thief has appeared, from thin air it seems, to add fire to the flames of the argument that Snow has already set ablaze. Another stern look is lodged his way but he refuses to back down. "Milady, your fever is rather high. There is a good possibility you may fade from consciousness again."

She grumbles and rolls her eyes, chin held high as she steps into the stirrup. "That is my concern, not yours." When Snow and Charming finally depart she feels a sense of relief, only to find that the thief is waiting idly by the back of her horse.

"What are you still doing here?" she asks, eyes narrowing. "Don't you have things to steal?"

He tilts his head thoughtfully, as if considering, but Regina can tell he is mocking her. Finally he levels her with his own disapproving gaze. "If you insist on riding then I must walk alongside you."

"You will walk the entire way to my castle?"

"We," he gestures around, "make for my camp."

"And I make for my castle, thief."

He sighs good-naturedly. "Then by your side I shall stay, until your journey is through."

Regina raises an eyebrow, lips pursed as she regards him.

Her stare does not bother him as he has no trouble returning it. "Someone must be here to catch you when you fall," he says. "You're flushed again. It is only a matter of time."

The group begins to move and their journey begins in silence. A confused silence on Regina's part, full of strange emotions and panicky heartbeats.

"You should ride," she tells him after many minutes. It is only natural. He is one of the group's most reliable archers she has heard. He should conserve his strength if the group should come up against danger again.

"I have already offered my horse to another for today's journey," he tells her, before his lips twitch into a smirk. "Unless you are suggesting that I ride with you."

Regina feels that familiar heat along her cheek bones and her eyes drift towards the ground, suddenly preoccupied with her shadow.

Robin chuckles, low and hearty, like her answer, or lack thereof, is the most natural and expected thing in the world to him.

That all assuming smirk is back, plastered right across his face. Regina straightens and purses her lips once more, determined not to give him the satisfaction. "Walk then," she says. There's finality in her tone.

But Robin is not dissuaded by her cold walls or the distance she puts between them mentally, nor does he waiver from his original task. He watches her closely still, eyes trained for queues. The slump of her shoulders. The sharp intakes of breath. He knows the wound will be painful today, that the poison will make her tired and sluggish, too weak eventually to hold her head up.

And if she is stubborn enough to be alone on a horse when that happens then he will stay by her side, if only to protect her from herself.

Her eyes begin to droop under the warmth of the sun. She thinks sleep might be a refuge from the ache that has settled beneath her lungs. It certainly welcomes her as such. With every step the horse takes her eyes snap open, only to find the thief is watching her, a look of mild amusement playing across his features.

At first she is conscious of this, but soon she finds the draw too great and even his gaze is not enough to keep her fighting the heaviness of sleep.

"We can stop my lady. Rest for a while."

"I'm fine," she whispers.

"Indeed," he says with a smirk. "But my feet ache with the burden of making pace with your horse all day."

"If you need a break, then by all means," Regina says, choking back a yawn.

"I do." He disappears from her side, finding the prince and bringing his own men to a halt. They reappear from the trees like shadows. Achy bodies dismount their horses in search of water and a morsel of food. Families gather for a quiet word. Regina notices that Snow is deep in conversation with a very much healed Ruby and Granny, when she suddenly hears someone approach from the east. They are on horses of their own and come with weapons raised.

There are three of them, four if she includes the man draped over the back of the biggest horse.

Robin appears by her side again, the prince close behind him. They exchange quick observations. She hears something about poison tipped arrows. It is enough to drain the colour from Charming's face. He looks at Snow quickly and then back to the men, his hand on his sword the entire time.

The man that rides the biggest horse speaks first. His voice is grainy, like he has swallowed sand, and slurs, telling Regina he is under the influence of drink.

"We come," he says, "to request an audience with the Queen."

He scans the crowd with clumsy eyes. He has yet to pick her out, though her position on the horse won't keep her hidden for long.

Snow is the first to respond. "What is it that you seek?"

"Retribution," he spits. "She has killed three of my men."

With a snap the other two men dismount, shouldering their weapons long enough to hoist the man from the back of the horse.

They hold him up for the crowd to see. His chest is scalded and the melted skin has pillowed in blistering rows.

"We take her and no one else gets hurt," the man says.

Regina swallows hard when stray eyes start to land on her. She cannot stay hidden away when there is a threat to the camp. There are children here.

Before she has worked up the nerve to show herself the thief is moving by her side. "We will draw them away," she hears him say over her shoulder. "Make for my camp. You will find sanctuary there." She is unsure as to whether his words are meant for her or for Charming. Somehow she thinks both.

The thief disappears and Regina is lost, until a hand comes down hard on her horse's rear end, sending her rocketing forward into the forest.

"Take her then," Charming bellows at the men. "Catch her and she is yours."

A second horse shoots out immediately after hers, this one with Robin perched on top. In seconds he is riding parallel to her, his white steed making up time with its long strides.

The sound of the chase behind them wakes her senses. The men have taken the bait.

She looks at Robin, eyebrows arching. Now what? she thinks.

Robin leads her on a zigzagging, unmarked trail. Her horse responds well, seemingly familiar with the route, though she spends the majority of the time dodging branches.

The sounds of the men behind them fade, once to background noise, and eventually to no noise at all. They have lost them in the tangles of weeds and brush, but Robin continues to drive his steed forward, looking ever more comfortable the deeper they get.

"Where are we going?" Regina demands of him eventually, when they emerge beside a river. The horses bend towards the water, drinking away their thirst.

"To my camp," he says. "Now that we have lost our pursuers, this is the quickest way."

Regina follows the path his arm points out and she blanks. "Across the river? My castle is a two day's journey straight along it. Perhaps this is where we part ways."

Robin rounds on his horse, and is in her face so fast, that she doesn't have time to compose her features. "You my lady will do no such thing. Firstly you are ill and should not travel alone. Secondly the plan was to make for my camp. That is where the prince will lead our people, so that is where we will go."

Regina says nothing. For nothing will change his mind. He leads his horse to the edge of the water again and waits for her to follow.

The river is strong and fast, grown heavy with the rains that have no doubt fed these lands over the previous weeks.

The water rushes noisily and it is with a great amount of coaxing that Regina is able to get the mare to take its first steps along the rocky river bottom. Each step is a fight, an endless succession of praises and commands, kicks to the underside of the horse and clicks of her tongue. Clearly the animal wants no part of this, but they have come half way already and to turn back would be foolish.

The rush of the water is stronger by the middle of the river, white with rapids that course dangerous and deep. Their horses sink to shoulder level. Their boots are soaked. Robin edges his horse forward, each step tentative under the horse's hooves. The slippery stone river bed is no place for an animal like this, weighted with people and supplies.

Regina is by his side, her brow knit in frustration and worry and what is no doubt pain. She is good at masking how she feels, he has learned, but he is a thief by trade and he steals the secrets of her face, the parted lips and clenched jaw. The crease of her brow and the glassy look in her eyes. If he should look harder he might see himself reflected in them, like the trees on the river.

It is without warning that the river drops suddenly, another foot of water, just cresting the horses back. Robin is soaked up to his knees. He hears a panicked shriek and as his head snaps around, he watches Regina sink below the rapids. She has been thrown by the spooked horse which now heads for shore, back the way they have already come.

"Regina!" he screams, all title forgotten. He has almost dismounted when her head breaks the surface of the water, a fair distance from where she went under. She gulps for air above the water, thrashing to stay afloat. Women are not made for swimming, he thinks. Not with the corsets and skirts and heavy fabric pinning them down. Robin leads his steed towards her, kicking into the underside of the horse before Regina can disappear again. When he is close her hands reach out for the reins that droop in the water, securing herself to him.

A strong hand slips beneath her arms and hauls her from the water. She is heavy, with the weight of the dress, but far too frail beneath it. Her hair has come undone, tangled to her waist now and the salve binding the freshly cauterized wound has no doubt been washed away by the current. But all that is forgotten as she wraps her arms around him. She holds him fast and steady, her grip stronger than he would have imagined after the fall, but he reaches to her clasped hands and lays his palm over them. Pats them gently.

As if waiting for permission, Regina leans forward, her front to his back, and he reminds himself to breathe. Her head tucks between his shoulder blades, her chin along his spine and he thinks this might have been a better way to travel from the beginning. And it is pure selfishness that accompanies his next thought, but for one shallow breath of a moment, he relishes that fact that this shall be the only way they can travel back. Together. On his horse. Back to front.

It is her shuddering breath, misty and cold against his neck, which breaks him from his spell. The steed has reached the other bank, has pulled them free of the river's grasp and in one swift motion Robin has dismounted, only to look up and find all the colour has drained from Regina's face. Her lips are blue, her teeth crashing against each other. Night has fallen quickly, the last rays of sunlight visible on the horizon, and with it has come the cold.

"Milady," he says, reaching for her hands. They are frozen, brittle inside his and he hates to let them go once he has placed her on the ground, but the only way to warm her now is to set a fire.

She crumples to a heap anyhow, by the horses feet, shuddering and shaking and he thinks his heart might break. He looks to the horse, now content, munching the tall, sweet grass that grows there. Surely magic could help. She could dry herself. The question seems to be in her eyes as she looks up at him, blue lips falling into a frown. But he has explained this to her and she is not stupid. She understands the seriousness of her magic being used at this time. Something as simple as this could leave her much worse for the wear. It is not worth the risk.

"I shall set a fire, Milady."

And so he gets to work. He leads her to a bold, protruding rock face. The heat will bounce off the stone and then they will not have to worry about covering their backs, though he'd never let anything hurt her. When he is sure she is as comfortable as she can be afforded in her current condition, he arranges the wood, thick and high. He wants a blazing fire, and before long he has it.

He crouches low, warming his hands and his feet. The pants he wears are almost dry to the touch. He is used to the forest. Of sudden rains and marshy swamps. His clothes are made for this. Pretty dresses are not and though Regina huddles close, her back to the rock, and her hands to the flame, her shoulders still shake.

"It is the dress, Milady."

"What?" she chatters.

"You're soaked to the bone. You will not warm with that dress on."

And for a moment of silence all they do is stare. For Regina's clothes are with the caravan of people they are desperate to find again. They both know this. Her eyelashes flutter and her shoulders hunch. What would you have me do? He can almost hear the question she doesn't verbalize.

But Robin has thought this through.

He shrugs out of his own tunic, leaving him bare chested in the night. The fire is warm and he is used to sleeping under the stars. The night will not bother him. He stands and rounds the fire, stopping so close to Regina that his figure casts her face in shadow, hides the blush that is no doubt on her cheeks as she stares at him, open mouthed and shocked.

"Put this on," he says. "It is dry. You will warm."

Regina splutters, makes to argue with him about indecency and strange men and she is a _Queen _. . . perhaps there are other things as well, but Robin hushes her.

He kneels down, his arms offering the tunic once more. "You are sick and sitting in a wet gown all night will make you worse. Please change." He allows her a minute to digest. To understand that her options are limited. To stop be so incredibly stubborn. Her lips are still blue to him, her skin white in the night and it scares him, starts his heart beating into a frenzy thinking she might freeze to death in her sleep. He will not have it. He will have her anger and her wrath and her displeasure, but he will not have her dead. "Either you can take the dress off Milady, or I will remove it for you."

Regina's eyes narrow at this all assuming man. How dare he give her orders, to strip down in the woods none the less? His presence is close and heightens her every sense. He smells of forest, wood and fire. It is earth. And with the firelight to his back his skin glows, like some heavenly being. It makes her stomach jump and her heart beat in her throat. She takes the shirt and holds it against her chest, an inner debate at hand.

"Turn around," she orders finally and he obliges, not willing to test her patience. Though he is a gentleman through and through.

He hears as the garment is stripped away, as it drops to the ground at her feet. Her teeth chatter more. When he turns she is covered in his shirt, too big on her of course, but most importantly, she is dry. She settles beside the fire once more, hastily, determined not to look at him as he stretches out her dress on a nearby rock.

When he returns it isn't to his side of the fire, but to hers, directly behind her. The fluttering of her heart ceases in an instant and drops heavily into her stomach. "What do you think you are doing?"

"This is the fastest way to warm you up," he explains, chest pressed against her back. She can feel the heat coming off him in waves. Maybe it is real, or maybe it is her imagination, but every part of him she touches sets her on fire. It is a good heat, a welcomed heat, which settles deep beneath her bones and kindles there.

"This is highly inappropriate," she says, shivering from something other than cold.

"Because you are a Queen," Robin says with a smirk, finishing the sentence on the tip of her tongue. "And how do you think I'd fair against your Prince Charming and Snow White if I were to bring you back cold and dead."

Regina says nothing.

"They would have my head."

Regina considers this, her head bent atop her knees. Finally she leans back, snugly fitting herself against his chest. His is warm.

Robin inhales deeply, his hot breath ticking her neck. It isn't unpleasant, she notes, to be this close to him. But she steels herself in these peaceful moments. She_ is_ the Queen after all. "Do not get any ideas thief, I am merely allowing your presence because you are warm."

Robin chuckles, low and deep, from somewhere in his gut. A place he no longer thought he could laugh from. "If it is my body heat you are after then take it. I give it freely to all whom need it."

"To all whom need it," Regina repeats.

"Yes," Robin continues. "All the pretty ladies of the forest."

And now it is Regina's turn to crack some semblance of a smile because that is a lie if she's ever heard one. She plays with his hand, the one that crosses over her stomach to hold her to him. The skin on his palm is rough. He has callouses on his fingertips. But they are strong hands. Made for a life in the forest.

Regina finishes with a low chuckle, and her laugh fades to a contented smile. There is pain beneath her ribs but it is dull, perhaps extinguished by the cold of the water, or the heat of the fire, and for that she is glad.

"I'm sure you do," Regina finally says, so not to hurt his ego.

Robin's next words are quiet, whispered close to her ear. "But you should know, Milady, there have never been any pretty ladies in the forest until now."

Regina manages to muffle the gasp that has taken her by surprise, but she fails as her breath hitches. That one is not a lie. Surely Robin has felt it. The shock. In the way the air flutters from her chest or the way her back bends unnaturally straight against him. And if he has, he pays it no mind, merely holds her tighter, pulls her closer, and for once she doesn't recoil or pull away. She tells herself this is okay because they are only sharing body heat. It is only because she is cold and he is so warm, but if she were being honest with herself she would have agreed that her toes had been quiet warm for a long while now and her hair was soft and dry and her shoulders no longer quaked with frozen spasms.

No. It is only because he is so warm.

Sleep finds her easily after this and for the first time in her entire life, she willingly falls asleep in the arms of a man.

She wakes the next morning to the sound of the fire. Robin has kept it going through the night. She makes to sit up but her head spins and the best she can do is prop herself on her elbows. She blinks in rapid succession, catching her bearings with each new sight.

She is clad only in Robin's shirt. It falls to her mid-thigh, but the neck line is deep. It is made for a man. She pinches the top closed between her fist and sits, pulling her knees to her chest. Her dress is laid out on a rock nearby. It no longer drips and perhaps is dry enough for her to wear again, because now that she has her senses, she does not feel like much of anything dressed in a man's shirt. And definitely not a Queen.

As if sensing her discomfort, Robin refuses to turn and merely gestures with an empty hand to her dress. "It is dry," he says. "I will not look."

Regina snatches the dress off the rock and though stiff, he is right. The fabric is dry to the touch. She undresses behind him, pulling his shirt over her head. It is to his honor that he does not turn. She stands there, stark naked behind him, a Queen in all her glory and he just sits and waits, tending the fire.

She takes the time to examine her body. The wound on her stomach is rough and beginning to open again. The water has done it no good. She will have to get it looked after. There are scraps on her forearms, from where the water sent her tumbling against the rocky riverbed, but they are superficial and nothing to concern herself with.

Except for the arrow hole she is no worse for wear, though now that she stands, the pain from the wound radiates out and up, spiking just below her heart. It reminds her that she is tainted with death. A death that could claim her without notice or warning, though the thief seems to think he has it under control.

She finishes with her dress and walks back beside the fire.

"Your shirt," she says, and hands it to him. He shuffles over and makes room for her on the rock he has occupied.

He slips the shirt over his head in one swift motion. It smells of her. A comforting smell and he wears it without complaint.

"Your horse returned in the night," he says, gesturing with his fire poker to the small meadow across from them. Sure enough her mare stands there, grazing on the sweet honeysuckle and tall grasses. There is disappointment on his face that she cannot place, but when she hugs her knees to her chest and leans her head against his shoulder there is a smile on his face that she cannot place either.

"Perhaps my mare can carry what supplies we have left," she says. Horses have never frightened her, but the idea of being thrown again frightens her and the memory of the water beating against her lungs in enough to . . .

"If you wish to ride with me, Milady, you shall have it."

"Thank you," she whispers. "And please, call me Regina."

"Then does this mean you will stop calling me thief?"

"I quite like the sound of thief. It has a certain ring to it."

Robin chuckles. "If it is what Milady wishes, then who am I to argue with a Queen."

Regina sighs, because she does not feel like a Queen, nor does she want to be a Queen right now. She just wants to be Regina, not the Mayor, not the ruler of a kingdom, just a woman.

A woman, who despite everything that has happened in the past few days, and despite the fact he is still a stranger, has come to expect Robin's presence, and dare she say, even like it. But it is only because she needs him, she tells herself. To tend to her, to get her back to the others. She tells herself these things because the feelings she has for the thief cannot be any more than that. She needs him.

He is useful.

He cradles something in his other hand and when she stops fiddling with the ribbons on her dress he hands it to her. "You were moaning in your sleep," he explains. It is a thin strip of white wood.

"Birch bark?" she says.

"Chew it," he instructs. "It will dull the pain. I know it bothers you."

"Thank you," she whispers and without question places a portion of the bark on her tongue. It is sour and makes her lips tingle, but slowly the ache grows more bearable and she thinks she may be up to riding.

She looks over at Robin, his eyes flickering between her and the fire. When he sees her watching he smiles and she can do nothing but return it. Yes, she thinks. She has come to need the thief very much.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to his camp is slower than it need be. Sherwood Forest is thick and indeed dangerous, but for Robin, who spends his days weaving trails through the close cut trees, it is home. A home he can find with his eyes closed. So he knows the fastest trails to bring them to the camp, and yet, he stays on the wayward path, the steed moving slow and steady. Part of him wants to prolong this feeling of closeness, with the Queen pressed up against him, clinging to him. The other part of him doesn't want to jostle her too much, doesn't want her to be uncomfortable for the duration of their journey.

So he avoids the short-cuts that will take them over loose terrain or along rocky ledges. He avoids long periods in the shade, where he can feel the cold creep around her. And for his efforts he has been rewarded.

Her cheek has been pressed against his back for many moments now. Her grip is tight around his chest, filling his heart with a bouncing lightness. Every few minutes she tightens her grip again, so he knows she is not sleeping, but she is quiet. Contemplative maybe. Thinking far too much about the meaning of all this.

The same as him.

He stops twice to water the horses, pulling the Queen from the saddle with ease both times. He offers her more bark, insists that she chew it to starve off the worst of the pain and she complies. Far too easily it seems, so he knows the pain is getting worse.

"It is not far now," he tells her, hoping to offer some form of happy news. His hand darts out and a finger points westward. "Just beyond that clearing where the sun will set in the evening."

"Do you think the rest of the company has arrived?" Regina asks, sinking onto a fallen tree. Her hands go to her knees, her grip so tight her fingers blanch.

"Yes," he tells her, smile tight at her discomfort. "The prince is very brave. With the help of my men he will have led the people there."

"And what of the men who attacked us?"

"They will not dare approach our camp or else face the wrath of my men in full force."

"Will they kill to defend your camp?" she wonders.

"My men are ordered to kill all who threaten the lives of the people I care about. You need not worry about your safety."

It is with that comment ricocheting around inside her head that they arrive at the camp. It happens suddenly, as sudden as a summer rainstorm. One moment the trees are thick and banded and the next it seems as if the forest swallows them and opens to an entirely different world. One that it full of music and fairy lights.

Houses are fashioned above ground and below, making use of the mighty trees that grow there. Bridges are hung to connect these homes, with rope swings strung from branches and hollows dug out of wide tree bases. There are stools of wood that circle around fire holes and people gathered in merry groups. Regina recognizes faces mixed in with those she does not.

It is truly a magical place. One of wonder and adventure, any little boy's dream. And with that she can't help but think of Henry and his passion for castles. She thinks that this place might just change his mind, should he ever have the chance to see it.

"This is where you live?" she says when Robin has settled the horse in a large pen. He pulls her from the saddle with ease and places her gently on the ground. His hands linger by her hips for a beat too long because an unforgiving blush has bled across the Queen's cheeks.

"Yes, Milady," he says. "This is my home. And it shall be yours for as long as your group is in need."

She watches him them, in the green light that is cast through the leaves above. Here she can see what he has tried to explain to her. Here he is much more than a thief. Because this place is not the sanctuary of those that rob from the rich, but those that give to the poor what ought to be theirs.

He leads her deeper into the camp, his hand steering her from the small of her back. It is a light touch, comforting, and she leans into it, realizing now more than ever that she has come to depend on him as a guide.

A boisterous group of people surround them suddenly, welcoming Robin home with hearty handshakes.

"We were worried, Robin."

"Do not fear, Little John," Robin says. "You know I always come home."

Regina does a double take in the shadow of this stranger, taking in all of the man who is anything but little. While she marvels at this, from across the camp a sound echoes out: welcoming laughter. "Papa!" a boy shouts joyously.

Regina turns at the sound of unadulterated glee. The boy that runs across camp is small, barley taller than her knees, with curly hair and wide brown eyes.

Robin bends to catch the tiny ball of energy that has escaped the Merry Men, throwing him into the air before tucking him against his chest.

The boy laughs and presses a wet kiss to the side of his father's face, brushing away the traces of the kiss on his own lips with quick fingers. He stops suddenly and looks at Regina. Another stranger in his home. "Who's this?" he asks his father, eyes roaming Regina's face inquisitively before turning away shyly.

"This, my boy," Robin says, persuading the boy's face from the folds of his shirt, "is the Queen."

The child gasps, his lips curving into a grin. He kicks his legs, struggling out of his father's arms and back towards the ground.

Regina does not move.

He stands before her now and smiles, the kind of smile that only a child can manage. The kind that melts hearts and shatters resolve. "Majesty," he says, bowing so low his head almost touches the ground.

Regina is awed by the gesture and touched and honestly impressed that for a child so young, who spends his days with a band of outlaws, manners come as naturally as breathing. But if his father is anything of an example then she sees why.

Regina gives a little curtsy in return and the boy jumps happily, smiling at her with deep, deep dimples. Just like his father, she notes.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" she asks.

"I am Roland," he says touching the center of his chest with a closed fist.

"Well, Sir Roland, you may call me Regina."

"Gina," he replies and it's cute and adorable and she finds it difficult to take her eyes off him, something about him fascinating. Only when he runs off to chase the Merry Men, does she realize that he reminds her of a younger Henry and then her heart is heavy and the pain comes rushing back.

She takes a deep breath to settle herself.

"Well, my son seems to have earned your favour far more quickly than I," Robin notes with a crooked smile.

Regina looks over her shoulder at him. He sees the burden in her eyes.

"You have a soft spot for children."

She sighs then, long and hollow, that empty space in her heart echoing painfully. "Only little boys with brown hair and brown eyes," she says in response. It is the last thing she says on the matter before walking across the camp to where Snow and Charming have assembled their people.

Her people.

She walks there because it is the closest thing she has to family and right now she needs something to tether her to the ground, lest she float away on the breeze. She thinks the emptiness in her heart may just about be able to rival the poison still flowing through her veins.

She is greeted with a hug, long and lagging, but it warms her heart still. Snow looks her over with a worried frown. "We were so anxious for your return. Are you alright?"

"I've been better," Regina says in a rare moment of honesty.

Snow nods in understanding. "Well you are safe here and there is food and beds to sleep in. Tonight we rest and tomorrow we will figure out the way to our castle."

"Our castle," Regina repeats. Her lips curl ever so slightly. Our castle. She thinks she likes the sound of that.

Later, when the camp is busy preparing for dinner, Regina finds Roland in a field of wild flowers. He is being chased by the large man again. This Little John. Regina smiles at the irony of it.

She pauses to watch him, free and happy. The kind of happiness she is sure Henry will find in his new life. Freedom from her and from this world. A chance to start over in a brand new story. She sighs, somewhere between misery and acceptance.

"The boy is quite smitten with you," Robin says.

Regina turns quickly to find him behind her, his voice taking her by surprise. He is never very far she realizes. He pushes off the tree he has been leaning against and moves to stand by her side.

"He hasn't stopped talking about the Queen since your meeting earlier." Robin chuckles. "You made quite an impression."

This makes Regina smile. She is used to making an impression. For all the wrong reasons of course. It is nice to think that someone sees in her something worthy of being remembered. Even if this person is a child. Perhaps in a way, it is even more satisfying, for children are easily frightened. But this boy is not afraid of her.

"It isn't often he is graced with a woman's presence and now he gets the Queen all to himself," Robin continues.

Regina turns to look at him. Her brow puckers. "What of his mother?" she asks. And for the first time she considers this. For Robin to have a son he must have had a wife. Where is she now, and what has become of her?

"Marian," Robin says. "We lost her the eve after Roland was born."

"I'm sorry," Regina says immediately and she is, truly, because no little boy should be without his mother, and that truth is met with the satisfaction of knowing that Emma will take care of Henry in her absence. So he is not without a mother.

Robin watches her closely and nods. A silent thank you. But Marian is his past and he has made peace with it. At that the boy spies them at the edge of the field and shrieks happily, ending his chase with Little John and choosing instead to hide himself in the folds of Regina's dress when the monstrosity of a man approaches, nostrils flaring like the dragon he pretends to be.

"Gina," Roland cries happily, little hands wrapping around her legs.

Robin's hand shoots out to steady her, lest she fall.

But Regina is steady, used to the clinging of a child, though it has been many years since Henry was small enough to pull at her legs. Still, it is something a mother does not forget. A feeling that stirs her heart.

"My boy, be careful," Robin says, dropping to a knee by his side. "The Queen is not well."

This stops Roland's game as he looks up at her curiously. "Gina sick?" he asks.

"I am fine," she assures him. But the boy is astute, just like his father and he moves from behind her legs and stares up at her face. She wonders what he sees there. A tired, worn woman? Someone who has lost too much again? The Evil that still paints her heart black?

Small arms reach up above his head, signaling his desire to be picked up. It is Robin who tenses at the action, worried that the exertion may be too much on Regina, but she swoops Roland up easily. He cuddles against her, hands pressing on the sides of her face. Whatever he looks for there he seems to find, and it must be good because it leaves him smiling satisfactorily.

He grins wider when his smile is met by one of Regina's own.

"Gina, want to play?" he asks. "We fight dragons."

He gestures over to where Little John has settled himself under a wide evergreen, just to their right. He nurses a bowl of stew now, something that Granny has cooked up.

Before Regina has to answer, Robin has taken Roland from her and put the boy atop his shoulders. "Come my boy, it is time to eat," he says.

"Papa!" Roland cries, grabby hands reaching for Regina.

Robin smirks and drops Roland back to the ground. "I see that I have been replaced," he says, chuckling lightly.

Regina crouches, her ribs protesting. The events of the day, though less than that of previous days, have made her weary. The poison still circles in her blood, making her limbs ache and her head throb.

"You go on," she says to little Roland, who stands before her, begging for company. "I have some things to do before I eat."

Roland deflates a little but Regina is swift to soothe him, pressing a quick kiss to his chubby cheek.

With gleeful shrieks echoing from his mouth, he runs off, pouncing once on Little John before finding his own spot by the dinner fire.

Robin watches in amazement. A quiet contentment masking his features. "You will be the death of my boy if you keep on like this."

"Like what?" Regina asks, taking a deep breath before she rights herself again.

"Stealing his heart," Robin says, "though I believe he gives it freely."

Regina nods. Children love freely and trust endlessly. It is something Henry taught her. Something she learned first-hand. Even when she was at her worst, a part of Henry still believed in her. Believes in her, she thinks. "He is a wonderful boy. Like his father in many ways," she says.

Robin's heart swells with the compliment, whether she intended it as such or not. "Will Milady then join us for dinner?" he asks.

"Perhaps another time," she says, folding her arms across her chest as a shooting pain rockets to the spot beneath her ribs. It is all she can do not to cry out. She must attend to the wound first. Foremost. Then she will eat.

"As you wish," Robin says. He walks her back to the groove of trees that line up temporary shelters for the newcomers and that is where they part ways.

Regina ducks inside an empty tent, one that has a change of clothes laid out for her. She smiles and reminds herself to thank Snow before pulling at the ribbons that bind the front of her corset. The dress slides from her body and pools at her feet, her skin prickling in the cold.

With gentle fingers she prods the skin around the cut and as she expects, it protests, the sound of its anger escaping her in a hiss that radiates between her teeth.

She is in need of medical care, the kind she would find in Storybrooke, but here medicine is rudimentary at best, magic being the only real binding cure to all that ails and cuts and burns.

But she cannot use magic. Cannot use magic without a price. But there has always been a price tied to her magic, just one she has never noticed, or cared enough to consider, but now she risks her own life with each wave of her hand. And she asks herself, with her hand pressing against the wound. Is it worth it?

No, she decides. She is not that desperate.

Yet.

Instead she finds a roll of cloth to wrap the area, bring some stability to fresh cuts of skin, and she hopes desperately that time and nature will close the wound for her.

With the bandage holding firm and her dress back in place she exits the tent and makes for one of the small fires that have sprung up since dinner. It is vacant, burning bright under the last streams of day that filter in through the trees. The surrounding fires are also quiet, occupied by a few lingering souls. Most having moved on after eating, some for a quiet walk to end the day and others simply retiring to their cots for the night.

She sits a while and stares at the flames, entranced by the light and the heat she can feel rolling over her cheeks. A shadow flickers to her left and a young boy, on the cusp of manhood, walks over to her. "Your Majesty," he says, nodding his head.

She looks up at him, dark hair and blue eyes, handsome, but there is a childish gleam in those same eyes. He holds a bowl out to her. "Robin says to make sure you eat."

The sentence causes her to stare. Even when she thinks she is alone, the thief is somehow there. Watching out for her. Caring for her. Up close. From afar. Against her wishes.

It is a strange relationship they have developed in a short amount of time. Strange, she thinks.

"Thank you," she whispers, reaching up. The boy stands awkwardly next to her as she settles the bowl in her lap and Regina can't help the curious smile that forms on her lips. "Surely you have better things to do than watch me eat," she says.

Her question catches him off guard and he blinks uncertainly.

"What is your name?" Regina asks instead, picking up the spoon and letting it trail through the beefy broth.

"Will, your grace."

"Well, Will," she begins with a soft smile. "Leave your leader to me and go and be with your friends."

His brow wrinkles above his eyes, contemplating her request and judging the wrath he will find with Robin if he does not follow orders.

"Please," Regina says. "I do not need an audience." She holds up the bowl. "It is only stew. Surely nothing that can harm me."

Will grins at her. An awkward, cheeky thing, sort of like the new smiles she was used to seeing on Henry. Her little boy had grown up a lot since the first curse unravelled. Will covers his heart with his hand and bows low, out of respect for her. "If you should require anything, your Majesty, just whistle. One of the Men will aid you."

Regina thanks him and lets out a sigh of relief as he leaves.

She attempts several bites of stew before refusing the meal completely. It weighs heavy on her stomach and hollow in her throat. She thinks she might be sick.

She places the bowl on the ground by her feet and resumes her quiet pondering while watching the flames.

The sky is not quite black when Robin appears. He comes up from behind her and offers her a tin mug over her shoulder. "The poison weakens the appetite," he says, one foot perched on the seat next to hers. "But if you do not eat something you will fare worse."

"And if I eat I will leave my dinner in the bushes," Regina answers. "So it is a lost cause."

Robin settles beside her, straddling the log, and once again offers the mug. "It is a tea brewed by the wolf's grandmother. She says it will help settle the stomach."

Regina looks over, hesitant to put anything in her stomach, but eventually takes it, the mug warming her hands. Until now she had not noticed how cold she was. She looks across the camp, over the heads of people crouched low around similar fires, finding the curly mop of greying hair. Granny is stringing garments along a makeshift clothesline. She looks over, having felt the Queen's gaze, and nods encouragingly at her, almost motherly in a way, tilting her head and waiting until Regina takes her fist sip. She does, swallowing the bitter concoction. It is ginger and other herbs.

She offers Granny a thankful smile in return.

"She is very grateful to you," Robin says, pulling her focus back to him, though it is always on him lately, for some reason, even when she means not to think of him. "For saving her granddaughter's life."

"It was the right thing to do," Regina says. That is Henry talking. Her young hero.

"Well, Milady, it appears you are making all sorts of impressions these days."

Day turns to night. The stars bleed through holes in the tree canopy above them and Regina finds herself tucked away on a bed of straw in a tent that she has all to herself. Maybe the others are afraid to spend the night by her, or maybe they seek to give her privacy. Either way she is glad because in the lonely darkness the pain below her ribs awakens and claws against her skin, wearing thin on her tolerance.

She wears nothing but a slip as a nightdress for the heat that radiates from the wound has spiked her fever and left her clammy.

She looks at the wall for a long time, pulling at sleep with her mind, but it doesn't come. Doesn't soothe the hurt and bring her solace.

In the darkness she finds nothing but discomfort.

"Robin," she speaks softly, knowing beyond a doubt that he remains just outside her tent, puffing quietly on a pipe. Her word is quiet on the wind but the first time she has used his name and so he is at her side in an instant.

"You do not have to stand outside my tent," she says. "There are guards in the woods."

"And in the trees and along the border of our land and even beyond that." He pauses. "But I am not going anywhere."

"Your son," she says.

"Is asleep as little boys should be at this time of night."

"Then sit with me?" After a beat she adds, "Please," for he has been gentle and accommodating and has already saved her on more than one occasion, so the least she can be is polite.

She is curled on her side, her raven hair splayed out behind her and Robin thinks he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He drops to his knees beside her and then turns so his body runs along hers. He props his head up on one hand and with the other traces small circles along her spine. When he gets too close to her ribs she inhales sharply and he pauses, frowning in the dark. "Does it hurt terribly?"

"Not terribly," she says. She lies.

"But it does hurt."

She does not deny him that.

"I shall fetch you something."

He moves to get up but she twists in the dark to face him, her hand finding its way to his, fingers wrapped around his wrist. "I am okay," she says. "Please just stay for a while."

He relaxes against her again. And though she breathes in long draughts, he knows she is not asleep. The pain is keeping her from it. But she is stubborn and he does not want to sadden her so he stays and attempts to distract her.

"Tell me of the other world," he says. "This Storybrooke that you come from."

Regina licks her lips, swallowing another bout of pain back down to its origin. "What do you want to know?"

"Can it be so different from here?"

"Yes," Regina says. "It is very different."

"Tell me," he says.

"Well there are vehicles that move without horses and water that springs forth from pipes in the walls. No one bathes in rivers. No one lives in castles. There is a whole manner of creatures in this world but none like we have here."

"No ogres?" Robin says.

"No ogres," she agrees.

"But they have beautiful queens?"

She thinks for a moment and sighs, "Yes, I suppose they do somewhere."

"But they have lost one now."

She is shy at his words, her face falling away from his but his hand catches her below the chin and tilts her face back to his. Without words or thought he presses his lips to hers, softly. And there are unsaid things in that kiss and Regina isn't sure if it is the pain that makes her head fuzzy or his smell or a combination of both but she keeps kissing him, their bodies pressed together until finally she pants heavy for air and he stops, pressing a kiss to her forehead and along her cheekbone and once more to the corner of her mouth.

"Rest well, my Queen," he says and it is with her head tucked against his chest that she finally finds sleep.

* * *

**Hello readers! **

**Can I first just say thank you for all the support so far. It means so much to me and reading your reviews is always a bright spot in my day. **

**This story was born of a desire to see Regina and Robin together after what they did in the S3 finale. Personally I'm hoping that since they crushed us so painfully we'll see a new, good Regina emerge and an epic love story unfold—one in which Regina gives Robin a potion to make him forget her like Snow once took to forget Charming. Redeemed Regina knows how much it hurts to lose a child and will not be the one to keep this family apart so she does this for the greater good. But like all good love stories Robin will be drawn to her, like Season 1 Mary Margaret and David, because true love is the most powerful magic and Marian can just go and find herself a portal to fall into. I just can't fathom the idea of watching episodes where Robin is made to ****choose****. I just can't do it. True love must win out. Robin must be drawn to Regina no matter what extremes she goes to, to make him forget. She has lost too much. Sacrificed too much. And she will have her happy ending. Because frankly that's the only way I am okay with this whole ass-backwards, time jumping love triangle situation.**

**Anyway, sorry for the mini rant :P**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are always lovely. It's nice to know your thoughts and hear your ideas. The future of this story rests in the inspiration I gain from OutlawQueen fans like you :) **

**So thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

It is in the early hours of the morning that Regina shoots awake, her collar drenched with sweat, her night dress stained red with fresh blood that leaks from her wound.

Robin is there, watching her with wide eyes. They are grey in the darkness and keen. "Milady," he says. But it is a whisper. Soft and sad.

All she can do in reply is double over and groan. Her voice is hoarse. Rough, like she's been screaming and lodges in her throat, the only remnants emerging as panted growls.

Robin's face contorts. He is pained by her pain. But right now he wants to yell at her, demand why she did not tell him the pain was this bad, why she refused to let him get her something for it.

And now he fears he has left her too long, let her be stubborn to the point of making things worse, for his worst fear has come true.

Infection.

At once he sets off, torn by the need to stay by her side, but determined to help her. He enters the last tent in the temporary shanty town that has sprung up since the arrival of Charming's group and rouses the old woman from her sleep, seeking her help once more.

With Granny he returns to find Regina hunched over and shaking. She claws at her stomach desperately.

Granny rolls her sleeves at once and turns Robin from the sight. Pushes him right out the door and into the inky darkness.

He is forced to wait outside—Granny must remove Regina's slip—and is reduced to being a go-between, running for supplies and bringing fresh water to cleanse the infection. If this is the only thing he can do to help, he will do it a thousand times over, but with each strangled whimper his heart claws to be in there, by her side.

"Robin!" Granny calls out. She requests from him three strands of hair from a horse's tail. He retrieves these for her as well as a sewing needle.

The lump in his throat is heavy as he hands her these through the doorway.

And then he is left waiting again.

He takes to pacing—back and forth, side to side—wearing down a dirt track outside the door.

Regina sobs openly now as Granny closes the wound. Stabs through infected skin. Wrenches on raw flesh.

Robin's hands pull at the hair on the top of his head in frustration. There is little he can do for Regina now and it almost kills him, for in this moment he would walk barefoot over fire if it would offer even the slightest comfort.

Her cries pull at his resolve, the one keeping him on the outside of the doorway, the one that ensures the Queen privacy. He cares not about any of that, only about her, but he knows she values her dignity and he will not cross the threshold of her tent while she lays uncovered, no matter how many times she cries out in agony.

It is for the best, he tells himself. If she is to be well again he must let Granny finish her work. Sew and stitch and bind the path the poison used to enter her body. She must be whole again.

Robin stumbles away, unable to stomach the sounds of Regina's misery when there is nothing he can do to ease her suffering.

It must be done.

This is a mantra he repeats, having hauled himself far away from the tent now that Granny has her supplies. He cannot listen to the Queen cry. He cannot be so near and remain helpless.

He lets Granny finish her work.

He gives her space.

The distance makes his heart twist and his legs shake.

And in that moment, he knows Regina, this Queen among Merry Men, has his heart.

When the first rays of dawn approach Granny emerges from the tent, looking years older than even her weathered face should be. It is with a heavy sigh that she looks at him. Finds him ragged and worn beneath an evergreen. Her hands wring in her apron, wiping the blood away.

"She is not well," she tells him, though he knows this.

"Her wound. It is infected?" he says, seeking confirmation for what he clearly knows.

Granny takes a deep breath and cleans her glasses in the same apron that is now covered in Regina's blood. "Yes," she says. "Being open has left it weak to disease. I have done all I can to make her comfortable." She looks back over her shoulder, pity washing over her features. "The wound is closed. Sewn tight with the horse hair. She needs rest now and a real healer. Something more than I can give."

"It is the poison," Robin says. "It draws the infection inward." His teeth grind together. "Back into her blood."

Granny offers him a heartbreaking look, one that hopes for some miracle. A miracle they both know lies nowhere in sight.

"I have done all I can," she says again. "And it will surely not be enough."

Robin understands. The care Regina requires lies outside both of their skillsets. But perhaps there is another. Someone else who can help. Robin will begin his search at breakfast, when his new companions will emerge for food. It is the last of his options.

"May I see her?" he asks quietly.

"Go," Granny says with a wave. "She has asked for you."

When Robin enters the tent it is to the smell of damp straw and salt. Regina lies on her back. Her face is gaunt, tight with pain and though she tries, she cannot even bring herself to smile at him. She can manage nothing but the shuddering breaths that flow in and out between her teeth.

"Milady," he says, his breath ghosting across her face. He would die a thousand lifetimes to rid her of this poison.

Sleep a thousand nightmares in exchange for her health.

He takes her hand gently in his, pressing it to his lips.

Sleep, he thinks. Rest. If only she could.

But the thoughts in his head start spinning.

Sleep. A deep, dark sleep. One so black it eclipses all feeling. Even pain.

Robin stirs beside her at this revelation. What he seeks is a sleep like death.

He knows of a drink, one that is brewed over fire. It lays the drinker to rest for a period of days. If she agrees he can make such a drink. And she will rest, unbothered by the pain that courses beneath her ribs.

Time is what she needs. Time to heal, but agony is all she has.

When he looks at her again his mind it set. She will take the draught.

And she will rest.

And when she awakes he will be there. Still watching over her.

Regina fades through glimpses of unconsciousness while Robin is near; each time she comes around the ache grips her more forcefully, until her knees are pulled to her chest, hands wrapped around her middle.

As her eyes roll again, white orbs glowing under dark lashes, Robin slips away and turns with his sights set on the forest.

The sun is barely over the horizon, but he cannot wait and drives himself further into the trees. It is only when he has stopped to check his direction that he realizes a shadow follows him. He spins quickly; hand already on the knife at his belt. "Roland," he says, moving into the light.

The boy watches him anxiously. "Papa," he says. "Why do you run?"

"I must collect ingredients," Robin tells his son.

"Why?"

"To make a sleeping potion."

"For Gina?" Roland asks.

"Yes, my boy, for Regina."

"It will make her better?" Roland asks, tilting his head.

And at that his face softens and he gives his son what he longs for. A hopeful smile. "It will certainly help."

Roland nods and marches forward, picking his way around trees and over raised roots. "I will help too," he declares and Robin does not have the heart to turn him away.

With his son in tow he heads north, towards the swamps.

When they reach the misty part of the forest, overflowing with plants that grow in no other place but the humid pools of shallow water, Robin begins searching. He turns to Roland and says, "Foxglove, my boy. Hurry, for the Queen."

It is the boy, searching close to the ground, that finds the small plant with red leaves growing at the base of a boulder. He reveals his find like a treasure and together he and his father return to camp, ordering a pot of water onto the cooking fire.

Robin adds the leaves one by one, watching them wither and curl in the steam. He boils the soup, observing as the water runs red before the color is burned away and the liquid becomes as clear as glass. He can see his own reflection in it.

Roland stares over the side of the pot, his nose crinkling at the smell. Robin shakes his head gently. "Not too close, boy. This potion is unforgiving."

Sleep will come on swift wings to any drinker, making the potion, which could easily be mistaken for water, exceptionally dangerous. Unless of course the intention is to seek out the heavy sleep it provides.

Robins waves Little John over, leaving his second in command to stand guard over the drink. Robin dips a mug beneath its crystal surface, scooping up a mouthful. That is all it takes.

He in careful not to drip on his hands. Or hold it too close, for even the steam that rises from the center of the mug is enough to make one drowsy.

He finds Regina huddled on her bed. Snow is by her side, dabbing at her creased brow with a cool cloth.

"Her fever is worse," she says. "It is trying to burn away the infection."

Regina's eyes are red and raw, from crying, from the sleep that evades her. She looks exhausted and confused, the twisted pain threatening to pull her away again for brief moments.

"Regina," Robin says, kneeling by her side. He must take her face with his hand because she can barely focus on him.

When her eyes meet his, his chest fills with sorrow, like water in his lungs, and it carries so much weight it threatens to drown him.

He takes her hand and wraps it around the mug, his fingers interlaced with hers. She feels brittle beneath his touch. She is slipping away. "You must drink this," he tells her.

Snow looks over curiously, peering inside the mug. Her eyes dance behind the worry, meeting Robin's. She is lost for how to help and anything that he suggests is more than she can offer Regina now.

"What is it?" Regina answers in a whisper. It is the first time he has heard her speak since her cries of pain when her wound was being threaded. It makes him smile.

She tries hard to meet his eyes, but hers flutter behind achy lids and she has to close them for a beat, reaching for any composure she has left.

"A potion of sorts," he tells her. "An old draught passed on through the forest people. It will not heal but it will pull you into a deep sleep. A forced rest with no feeling. No pain," he whispers. "But you will not wake for three days."

Snow licks her lips, her face sinking to a frown. She doesn't like the idea of forced sleep. The notion much too close to the sleeping curse she once fell under.

"Is there no other way?" she says.

"Not to be rid of the pain," Robin says, defeated. "Not while she is here. We have exhausted the measures of my people and she is not well enough to travel. Not like this. You will never reach the castle."

Snow nods slowly, agreeing silently.

"What if I should need to be awake? For defense. What if my services are needed?" Regina questions. Her worries are voiced in broken speech, her whimpers punctuating the concern. Her magic is still the most powerful thing at their disposal.

"Your people are safe here," Robin assures her. Promises her, because of that he is sure.

She looks at him from the corner of her eye; an uncontrollable spasm has caused her to recoil in on herself, her hands falling away and tightening in fists that rest just below her chest.

"Do you trust me, Regina?" he asks. Pleads.

She doesn't answer him, doesn't even manage to shake her head, because truthfully she can't bear to be wrong about him.

"Trust that I will keep you safe," he begs. "Please, this is the only way to help you. Let me take the pain away."

The temptation is great. The thought of a dark abyss where the pain will not touch her is comforting, welcoming. Her mind yearns for it, demands it even, for she is not sure she will survive another night like this.

Poisoned and bruised, with infection needling its way into her bones.

Snow waits beside her, gentle eyes urging her to take the drink.

Finally Regina nods and Robin procures the mug again, wrapping her hands tightly around it. He helps her tip it to her lips and waits for her to swallow.

The drink is thin, warm, almost like smoke sliding over her tongue. It tastes of mint and pepper as it slides down her throat. The feeling is curious and in some ways unpleasant. Regina fights against the need to be sick. She feels the liquid move, like a snake or a worm, sliding its way around her body, fanning out. It sends a strange tingling sensation across her skin.

"Now we wait," Robin says, a hand brushing back the stray hairs that have fallen and stuck to Regina's cheeks.

"How long?" she asks. How long until sleep will claim her?

"Most of the day, Milady. It is slow to work, but it _will _work and under the spell of sleep you will heal." He says this while holding her face between his hands. He wants to kiss her again, brush his lips against hers, but he resists because he wants all of her to want him just as fiercely, and she cannot possibly invest her heart when she hurts so. He settles for her forehead, laying his lips gently against the skin there.

Fever leaps from her and Robin sits back on his feet. "I will fetch you water," he says. "You must drink before sleep takes you. Flush the infection from your system."

The stress of it all has made her weary. And her hand goes slack in his, letting him go. And though he means to leave, it is a feeling he never wants to experience again, having her hand slip from his as if lifeless. He squeezes his fingers around hers once and lifts her hand to press a kiss against her knuckles. "Rest," he tells her. "I will return."

Snow follows him from the tent.

"You care for her," she says simply. Boldly.

Robin turns and looks at her. His face is tortured. "More than I can bear," he tells her.

"There must be something more we can do, something we haven't tried."

"We need a healer," Robin says.

Snow looks grim. "She needs a doctor." She needs to be anywhere other than a forest full of ancient ideas and slow to the progress of the world they spent so much time in. The thought is so great and frustrating that it almost overwhelms her.

"We will figure out something, princess."

"When?" Snow demands. "How long can she endure this suffering?"

The words freeze Robin to the spot and he whispers to her, "I don't know."

"I will speak to Doc," Snow says with urgency.

"The dwarf?"

She nods once. "He worked closely with the Blue Fairy when I was with child. Perhaps he knows something that can help."

With that she leaves him, determination fueling her step.

The hours bleed slowly, the sun a teasing clock above the trees.

Regina knows more than anyone the burden and stillness of time. She has been seeing things in her unconsciousness as she fades far and away, things that scare her, while she waits for sleep to come. And as sudden as the visions appear she is brought back, only to be thrust into another twisted reality. Delirium paints her vision in shades of black in white. In it she sees Henry. A boy of twelve, happy and smiling, but the darkness creeps in and suddenly he transforms into something old and ugly. A man with broken teeth and a devils smile.

"Children are like treasures," he whispers in her ear. "Something we will die for before we risk losing them."

She whimpers at his words, shaking her head, trying to free herself from the image, but the man simply laughs and pats her arm. "It's too bad she wants you all to herself," he says, his voice husky. "You are a fair woman." A dirty finger trails down her cheek and along her neck. It traces her collar bone and teases the valley of her breasts. Regina wants to scream, to cry out, fantasy and reality becoming a nightmare in her mind.

The man laughs once more. It is a dark sound, one that merges with the dark spots that once again transform her vision. She blinks, tearing herself away from his face and as suddenly as he appeared, he is gone. She is alone.

This pain has made her crazy, she thinks. And she cries.

When Robin spies the stranger leaving Regina's tent he catches him but the shirt and throws him against a tree.

"What is your business here," he growls.

The man stutters and Robin releases him. "I was asked to bring the lady water, good sir," he says.

"By who?" Robin demands.

The man bows low, his hands over his heart. "The princess," he says. "She worries so."

"Very well," Robin says, waving the man away. "Your deed is done. Away with you now." He watches him go and then lifts the curtain of the tent to find Regina caught in another spell of the mind, whimpering about children and treasures. She thrashes violently and he finds himself by her side, hands smoothing down her hair. "It will be okay," he promises. And he intends to keep that promise, even if it takes until his final breath.

He collapses next to her and traces the pattern of her face with his finger-tips. She feels like a dream to him sometimes.

He swallows hard because he knows dreams always fade with the morning.

It is only a scream of sheer terror that pulls Robin from Regina's side. His head snaps around, his ears alert to only one distant sound. Panic grips his heart as he crashes through the doorway of the tent, because it is the sound of his son.

When Robin arrives at the source of the noise he finds his men in a face-off, weapons raised and scowls worn like armor.

Robin is confused because no one ever raises their weapons in his camp. There is no need.

But when he sees the man, the one who was sent to leave Regina water, with his filthy hands around his son's collar and a knife to his throat Robin craves blood.

"The Queen," the man says, lips curling around yellow teeth. "Is all we come for."

Robin shakes with fury for liars and cheats have infiltrated his home.

The prince approaches from behind but before his sword is drawn the man turns, eyes flickering between them both.

"His neck is thin," the man warns, shaking Roland for good measure, "and his blood will be warm over my fingers. Don't tempt me."

Roland whimpers, calls out for his Papa, and Charming recedes, Snow pressed close to his side.

"The Queen," the man barks again, impatient now. "Or there will be one less thing to be Merry about in this camp."

And before Robin can react or think or devise a plan to secure both his boy and the woman who holds his heart, she is behind him. Held up by two men who have dragged her from her tent. The one that was left unprotected as the camp flocked to Roland's aid.

There is an unholy look in the eyes of these men. The men that look like peasants but grin like thieves.

Regina is slack against them, vision dazed.

"How did they break camp?" Robin demands of Little John, an arrow already strung across his bow string. His sight divides equally, watching both Regina and his son. He will not lose either to these scavengers.

Little John draws his own arrow from a sheath on his back. His brows pinch furiously. "With so many new faces how do we know who should be and who shouldn't? These strangers probably walked right past our guards."

"I want their heads," Robin seethes, red quickly eclipsing his sight.

"As do I," Little John growls.

Their sights fall back on the first thief, the one who leads the others is this wicked game. "You have little to consider," the man says. "There is a bounty on the Queen's head. So let us leave, or your boy will bleed out on the forest floor."

A bounty? Regina manages to focus now, using whatever strength she finds in the depths of her soul to remain alert. It is impossible, for she has just returned.

"Who has ordered this bounty?" Snow calls, for she has come to the same conclusion.

The man almost chokes on his snarled laughter. "There is a new witch in charge here, Snow White." He snarls her name, spitting on the ground, like the sound of it will stain his tongue. The smile that follows is greedy and cruel and speaks of all things sinister.

It turns Regina's stomach.

She hangs between her captors, the same group of men who already held her hostage once. And she can feel her magic sparking at the tips of her fingers. But it is weak and unresponsive because the sleeping draught has started to pull her from this world completely, the black of night creeping in. The tingling snakes bleeding through her cells have almost reached her fingertips, concealing what magic has managed to escape there. It draws this magic inward and renders her powerless.

But she still has one thing that is hers alone to command.

The freedom of choice.

Nothing is worth the loss of a child. Not even her own life.

And without pause she agrees to go, uses the last of her strength to utter these condemning words. She goes because Roland is held hostage. And he is innocent. He is but a boy and this, whatever this is, is not his fight.

And it is settled.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as she is dragged past Robin. Dragged away from him. Do you trust me? His words echo in her head. Does she still? Will this be the last she sees of him? Is this her fate now?

"No," Robin protests, but there are hands restraining him, holding him back from lunging because there is still a blade held to his son's throat. Still tears being spilt by a boy of four.

His mouth hangs open in silent rage as he watches Regina go, watches as the thieves saddle a wagon and mount horses from his camp.

And Robin thinks his heart has just been ripped from his chest, the same way Regina is ripped away and shoved onto the wagon.

She means to watch him as long as she can, to have him understand that she does this not to hurt him, but because it is right, because if this poison in her blood seeks to take her from this world, than the least she can do is protect the only other thing Robin loves. She sees his eyes widen in horror. They are the clearest blue, pieces cut right out of the sky. This is the last color she sees as the black draught takes over her body. It pulls her under, making her a prisoner to these men, for she will have no way to fight them now. Her heart hammers at this thought, knocking like jailed hands against her chest. She is trapped. But there is nothing she can do to stop it . . . nothing at all.

Robin raises his arms again, steels himself against the rage that shakes his body and aims, the path of his arrow true and deadly.

He does not miss.

Ever.

"Don't try anything funny," the man warns. "We'll have an archer on your boy until we are long gone."

Robin's arm drops and his boy is released to him. He hugs him close and kisses his head and searches the tree line for the sniper.

He sees nothing and assumes the man is bluffing. But he cannot take that chance, not with Roland's life. When the wagon and the men are long gone, Robin ushers Roland into a tent. He leaves him with Snow and the wolf-girl, entrusting his safety to them. Then he orders his men into the woods to search for this sniper. They are gone for several minutes, scouring the area, but return empty handed.

It has been a trick.

Robin packs immediately.

"If you go after her then so do I," Little John says.

Robin places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Stay with the camp, John. Work with the prince. I need to know that Roland is safe."

Little John agrees and leaves Robin to his preparations.

With a full sheath of arrows and his bow in hand, Robin stops long enough to kiss his son again, and then he is off, tracking the men that threaten Regina's life.

And his.

Because the Queen has become a part of him, so potent and pure, that he will not dare live without her. He will have their heads for this, he vows. And he disappears in the shadow of the forest, his forest, like a whisper in the trees.

* * *

**So . . . thoughts anyone?**


	6. Chapter 6

Shadow. That is what he is. The grey in-between that surfaces above dark and below light. Brief flickering glimpses. Shape between trees.

The men do not notice shadow.

They do not notice him.

But he sees everything. Each time they laugh at crooked jokes made at the Queen's expense. Each time a greedy eye lingers over her sleeping form, desire waiting there. Each stray hand testing the pulse at her neck, feeling too long, rough hands dragging against her soft, soft skin. Those are the moments Robin feels claws ripping at his chest, like a lion is eclipsed beneath the skin, roaring for freedom.

The freedom to lunge and tear and shred. To kill as hunters do.

Many times his finger is tight on the bow string, thumb resting against his chin just in case. But the men leave Regina be, for now. And for now they are alive.

Robin follows the group in silence. His steps are light, his feet used to the uneven terrain. He keeps pace with the horses and the wagon, for it is bulky and slow, burdened by old wheels that don't roll beyond the tree roots and many times the men have to push behind the cart.

They journey through the night, with fire torches for light, and two stops for rest. Both times Robin waits for them to sleep, but it seems that the forest makes them anxious and instead of sleep, they press on to the North.

Towards the grey mountains.

And the Dark Castle, where Robin once found himself at the mercy of an evil creature. One that has not been seen in this realm for many years. It was there that Robin procured the wand he used to try to save Marian. But the magic did not take. It is curious that he should be brought back this way, when another love of his, is in danger, sickness making her weak. Curious that they share the same poisonous fate. Though it seems that a new evil has taken up residence in the Dark Castle, if it is indeed where the men lead him.

Curious coincidences, with curious questions, and curious answers.

He wonders suddenly if his heart is always meant to ache so, if he will always have to fight like this to be with his love. If they will always be ripped away from him.

No, he resolves. Not again.

What this witch wants with Regina, he can't imagine. He won't. She will be returned to him and her people, even at the expense of these men. Robin will swim in their blood before he sees Regina a prisoner to a monster.

That he vows to the stars.

When the sun has risen again, Robin whistles on the wind, perched along the cliff that rises to the side of the trail the men use, and he waits. When he sees the hawk circle above, the thin shadow slicing through the air, he stands.

He strips birch bark from the nearest tree and lets it steep over the remnants of the morning fire the men have left, until it is pliable. Then he cuts into his own skin, needing some form of ink and scrawls a message with the tip of an arrow. The hawk rests on his shoulder, perched like a messenger.

He binds the scroll to the bird's leg when he finishes. "To the princess, Snow White," he says, setting the bird to flight once more.

They must make for the castle, for that is where he will bring Regina. It will surely be closer than trying to get her back to his camp.

After a series of hasty meals and many miles the sun has moved beneath the trees once more and they come upon a series of caves. There are other men already here. More horses line up outside. Orange fires can be seen flickering from the mouth of the cave, like flaming tongues, reaching from the bowels of Robin's own personal hell.

The place they bring her.

This is their hideaway.

He is perched above, watching like the moon, and blinking like the stars, each man and weapon falling into place in his head, where he sifts and organizes, plotting an escape.

He catches his breath at the movement below.

The men return from the insides of the cave and two of them drag Regina from the wagon, hands tangled in long strands of her hair, pulling her towards the mouth of the cave, he feet slack and bare against the ground. Robin's knuckles smash the nearest tree in anger. Again and again. He does not break his hand, though he knows he could, for they will be too important now. Bruised and bloody he descends from above, sliding down the steepest part of the cliff, as nimble and lethal as a giant cat.

He breathes heavily at the bottom of the hill. The sound is loud and will draw attention, so he focuses and reaches for control again. Control of the anger and rage that bubble in his chest. The violent actions of a man determined to take back what has been stolen from him. It takes all of the strength inside him not to rush the caves.

Now that Regina has disappeared from his sights, Robin fears the worst, and makes preparations to go after the thieves.

To end them.

He lays his bow aside, tucking it into the crook of a tree with his sheath of arrows. Any fighting that will happen now will be between rock walls. Close quarters. That is no place for a bow.

His knives will serve him better.

He breaks away from shadow now.

He is real. He is here.

There is a guard at the first entrance. He slumps against the wall with his legs in a knot, sword laid across his chest and a bottle in his hand. He reeks of alcohol and though he is already unconscious, Robin draws a sharp knife against his throat, spilling his life's blood.

He feels no remorse, only release.

Freedom.

Ridding the world of one more monster.

Robin's hand clenches around the top of the blade, slinking along the side of the cave. He is usually more subtle, preferring to incapacitate rather than kill when he is working, but the treasure he seeks now is not gold or jewels, it is his love.

His heart.

And with that he will not take any chances.

He will take a thousand lives, rip a thousand throats, if that is what it takes to get her back. But looking back over his shoulder, the man still looks as if he sleeps, so Robin does not hide the body. And deep down he knows, no one will take the time to bury him. To lay him to rest.

The dark wolves will finish the job.

He sets his sights on the pure blackness before him and follows the voices to the very back of the cave, where the walls drip black water and the ground is pierced with jagged rock. He finds the men as they deposit Regina in the first of a series of stone and iron cages.

She lands with a hollow thud against the ground, the impact pushing the air from her lungs.

Robin's jaw is so tight he thinks his teeth might crack under the pressure.

Under the power of pure loathing.

With fast feet, he manages to slip behind a protruding rock face as two of the men recede, muttering about food and sleep. The other settles himself on a stool outside the cage and waits, pulling a blood red apple from his pocket. He takes a bite, crunching the flesh and waits.

Robin finds an overhang, that looks onto the cages, one he can crawl to, and he settles himself there while the man stares at Regina, licking the apple from his lips.

Robin glowers in the dark, thumbing his blade. Waiting for his next move. For the moment to strike.

A weak mumble interrupts the visions of death he projects onto the man. It comes from Regina's and with that his heart leaps, dancing to the sound, as she begins to stir. It has been three days.

Almost.

He waits. Throat tight. Chest ready to burst.

Almost.

When she wakes from the deep sleep it is with a giant gasp for air, like someone surfacing from beneath frozen waters.

But Regina is not frozen, she burns.

It has been three days and her skin is fire. Not the same kind of fire she is used to, but the fire that comes with healing. In a way it is relief, to think that she is healing. She turns slowly, each movement calculated. Her arms bend beneath her, fingers sprawled in the dirt, grasping at straw and stone. Her knees pull up, but that shoots lighting to her ribs and she freezes. The stitches pull tight and it hurts her to move, to breathe, to push herself up. To sit. But somehow, rolling to her side, she manages.

Robin has been so still, he has forgotten to breathe and his chest screams. His heart leaps when he sees her stir and falls just as fast because the man on the stool has also seen and he watches her now, with a grin, eyes too beady, their depths too black.

"Welcome to the world of the living, your Majesty." It is a taunt when it falls from his lips. A curse. "Thought you might be dead. And what a problem that would have been for your friends 'cause she would have been mighty upset. Probably would've killed them all."

Regina clears her throat, eyes narrowing to see the man between the bars. Her vision is hazy, but she thinks he smiles at her. Crooked teeth and ugly scars marking his face.

"I know nothing of what you speak," she says, pain turning her words into a grimace. She cannot see the man very well, for he hides in shadow, but she is having trouble focusing now anyway. Everything is painted in blurry lines.

The man spits to the right, marking the wall with phlegm and pieces of apple. "Maybe not," he says, "but the witch knows you. Doesn't seem to like you very much."

"There aren't many who do," Regina says trivially. Dismissing his statement as she struggles to make out the walls of her prison. They look like heavy bars, at least the walls that run horizontal from ground up. The roof is something else entirely. "I've made some enemies in this land."

"Smug," the man says, chewing on the apple core. "She's not gunna like that."

Regina blinks. Why is her mind so fuzzy? "You're foolish to think I care," she mutters, and she doesn't really care, though she should. At this moment she just can't bring herself to focus on the severity of the situation when she doesn't even know who she faces. When her mind buzzes so.

The man growls and stands. "You're feisty too." He opens her cage, threading chain through a metal lock, and stands in the doorway, thick fingers trailing over his belly before reaching for the knife at his waist. He removes it, smirks at its shine and turns it on her in a point. "Is that how you take your men? Feisty? Rough?"

Regina's throat tightens, the hair along her arms standing painfully straight. She backs away, using her hands and feet to struggle to the wall. Her back presses against cool stone, her head finding rest against black rock.

She has seen men with this look before.

Was victim to it. Has killed them for it.

But she is not herself right now. The Evil Queen is only a figment of her mind, distant and faded. It sends her heart racing, so fast she thinks it might burst from her chest.

She makes a sound, something unintelligible, like a whimper and groan combined as one.

The man moves into her cell, hands falling to his belt buckle. Her eyes still linger on the silver blade in his hand. "Go ahead and scream," he tells her. "It's more fun when they do." He pulls his shirt from his pants and takes another step towards her. "There's no one around to hear you." His smile is grease and slime. She shivers, muscles locking and curls defensively, legs pulled tight to her chest.

He drops to his knees before her. The bulge in his pants makes her sick. She wants to puke. Wants to scream. Grasps for her magic. The purple smoke that is still subdued by the sleeping draught she consumed. She calls for it and calls again, but there are only faint wisps of magic in her system and it is not enough to save her now.

Not yet.

And when there is it will be too late.

The man, with his black eyes and rough hands will have had his way with her.

"N—no," she pleads. Cries, when he grabs her ankle and rips her forward, towards him. Her fingers dig against stone, scraping blood from her nail beds as she is pulled against her will.

This can't be happening, she thinks. Not again. She is not that girl anymore. The one who is used by men much older than she.

"How does it feel to be a Queen now?" the man whispers. His voice is cold against her skin and sharp, like a thousand stinging bees. The sound digs straight into her bones and makes her quake. She scrambles back but his thick hand is on her knee now. He tosses the knife down and his other hand falls back to his belt.

She closes her eyes then, hot tears falling from her cheeks.

It is at that moment that Robin launches from his perch, now that there is no threat of weapon against Regina, and takes the man down by the chest. He hits him from the side and rolls away from her, lest they crush her. Robin can feel only blood. Pounding in his head, ringing in his ear, coursing to his knuckles.

He will break this man. Every bone. Snap every joint. His fists find teeth and tongue, dive into pools of blood that spring from a crooked nose.

Robin is prepared to kill. Wants to kill.

His hands are covered in blood when he is finally wrenched away by men from outside. They have been roused by the noise and the screams, pulled to the side of their ruthless leader who now lies in a pulp on the floor. He doesn't move now. Won't ever move again. Robin has made sure of it. Driven the man's own knife into his chest.

The cell to the left opens and he is tossed inside. Regina's own cage shuts and she is slammed back into darkness.

Immediately Robin scrambles towards her, feeling his way in the dark.

"Milady," he says quickly. Quietly. "Regina?"

He can't tell if she sighs or whimpers but he hears her there, feels her presence and for now it is enough.

When her hand finds his through the bars it is enough.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

She shudders in happiness and in grief. He is here for her, come to rescue her, and yet they are both prisoners now, but she shakes her head still, for his hand in hers is still enough. "No," she says. "I am fine."

If only, he tells himself, but he does not say it, because she is awake and talking and so incredibly beautiful, so much that each tear burns him to see. She is far from fine, but he will take her away from this place, this evil, and soon she will truly begin to heal.

His hand finds her cheek, catching the stray tears that linger there. She tips her face in his hand and finds only trust. She does trust him.

He feels it.

The moon cuts through a wide hole in the roof of the cave. Through the overhead slats it leaves a thin trail of light that reflects off the bars that separates them. It is enough to cast a long shadow of light over Regina. She is nestled in the straw by the iron base, a tired frown gracing her lips.

It is only with Robin's gentle assurances that she finally closes her eyes and seeks sleep.

Way into the night, when he has started to count the seconds between each of the Queen's breaths, a man approaches. The new leader he assumes, come to evaluate. And re-evaluate where things went so very wrong for them. How they let a thief slip into their camp?

"How many of you have followed us?" he questions directly.

"Too many to count," Robin says. He has been waiting for this. "I have an entire army of men at my disposal. And you?"

"We have our own defenses," the man responds squarely, jaw set tight.

"I should hope so because my men approach. It is only a matter of time before you are surrounded."

"Then they will die."

"Then same way your leader did?"

There is something deadly that passes between them and in that moment Robin knows only one of them will be leaving these caves alive when this is all over.

The man turns on his heel and marches for his men. And it is too the sound of men being woken from their sleep and ordered onto their horses that Robin chuckles, finding some twisted humor in his turn of fate.

The new leader has fallen for the lie, sending a scouting party into the woods and significantly dividing their numbers. The scouts leave in the dark, with nothing but torches for light. The men do not belong in his woods and will likely be lost for days.

All the better, for it is time that Robin needs. For Regina to be well enough. She moans deep, something inside her screaming for release, and the pain brings her out of sleep.

Robin is by the side of the cage again, hands placed along her hip, calling to her.

She turns to him with a twisted expression. Her stomach aches, the muscles clench, raw where the stitches run. She hugs her ribs.

Robin watches carefully, and frowns. Before the camp leader had arrived, he had been massaging the oil from the leaves that still remained in his pocket from days before. The foxglove is wilted, but the oil is potent, and, he hopes, will help draw the ache away.

"Undo your corset," he instructs and Regina turns, her eyes hidden under knitted brows. "Just enough to reach your ribs," he says and he shows her the plant.

She reaches for the button that rests just above her navel and continues upwards, handing moving swiftly over the light fabric. She undoes four buttons before Robin is able to see the stitches. They stand out against her skin.

"I have seen this done many times," he tells her. "For burns. The foxglove will help ease the ache."

He presses one hand against her stomach and feels the skin flinch beneath his touch. "Your hands are cold," Regina says, hissing her breath.

He nods, feeling the unnatural heat of her skin. "Apologies, Milady." He squeezes the leaves in his fist and lets the oil drip along the stitches, lets it settle between them, saturating the wound. Regina gasps; sharp breathes catching in her throat. When the oil runs dry, Robin takes the leaves and chews them, makes a paste and presses it into the wound, to seal in the oil. "This will help," he says. He hopes. His hand is still laid across her stomach. Her skin, though too warm, is soft and he thinks he could remain like this for hours.

"It burns," she says, searching his face.

He smiles for her, to reassure her, but it is tight and forced and almost makes him gag. "I know," he whispers. "But soon it will be numb."

With gentle hands he replaces the buttons, covering her again. "Rest Milady," he says. "And heal."

She nods and lays her head back down, tired eyes closing at his request. When she breathes deep Robin pulls his hand back through the bars and kisses his palm, then his lays it against her heart.

His heart.

She falls asleep, head still spinning, and this time it doesn't stop, but continues to warp and twist, like the insides of a rabbit hole.

Robin worries that her murmuring has gotten worse through the night, and that the thrashing will tear her stitches, but he does not wake her, because sleep is the only place her strength will come from.

At some point she thinks she is awake, but the room moves and she has to keep her eyes closed to stop the swirling. But flashes of dreams come with her eyes closed and she is delirious. Weak after the sleeping draught. Almost four days now without water and Robin knows dehydration has set in, corrupting her dreams.

There are men in the dreams that haunt her waking hours, these moments of delirium that pass like shadows. In it the man with the scar is on her, his weight crushing her. He laughs against her throat, hands groping and twisting. She can barely breathe. And then his face changes, ages, rippling like the bark of a tree. He is Leopold, hot and heavy on her, devouring her cries with his mouth and stealing the parts of her that were hers alone to give. "No," she cries. "Please."

She whimpers and begs against the visions and Robin calls to her, attempts to pull her from the spell, but the symptoms of dehydration hold her too firmly.

He jumps to his feet and rattles the cage that holds him.

The men are up now, woken to the dawn.

"Water!" he shouts through the bars. He wants nothing from these thieves, but he needs it. For her. "Water!" He calls and calls until his voice is hoarse, until the shadows of men grow closer.

"What are you on about?" one of them says, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"The lady," he says gesturing to Regina. "She pales in the heat. She will die before you ever get her to this witch."

There is something seen at the mention of the witch. Robin is sure it is fright and he plays on this fear. "Who will she call upon when she finds the Queen is dead? Who will face her wrath?"

Flickers of understanding bleed through the man's eyes.

"Water!" he calls, turning roughly. He marches from the cave and minutes later a pair of guards usher in with a canteen, full to the brim.

They hand it to Robin through the bars, for Regina hasn't responded to anything for hours now, and he crawls to her side, still separated by rusty metal.

He tips the canteen to her lips and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand. "Drink, Milady," he urges. He wets her lips with the brim of the canteen and pulls away, watching her eyes squint. "Yes," Robin says, tipping the drink to her mouth once more. "

After the canteen is emptied, Robin lets her rest again. It is short lived and then Regina is awake, eyes wide, something terrible in their glassy sights.

He regards her carefully.

She is stronger now. Strong enough to hold her head still. The visions have faded, reality welcoming her back. The improvement isn't much, but the bars are preferred over the four poster bed that waits in the castle. The one she took to on her wedding night and for many nights after.

She fears that bed, that room.

The memories that linger there.

From when she was weak and defenseless. Before Rumplestiltskin taught her of revenge. Before her magic became her only form of protection against the evils in her life.

She is a different person, even now, someone trapped between that girl and the Queen, but the memories are strong, like photographs imprinted at the back of her mind, and though she has tried to burn them away, the ashes remain and repair in her nightmares.

Robin wonders what she sees that keeps her so far from him. To be so close to her and yet separated, tears at him.

She is backed into the corner now and if he reaches, he can almost touch her; almost reach the fallen tears that escape her. "Milady." She does not look up. He tries again. "Regina, look at me. It will be okay."

She does not speak, only hears, and cries silently.

He wants so much to hold her. "I promise." He reaches her elbow finally and tugs gently. She responds slowly, moving to him. "What did you see that has scared you so?"

"Nothing," she whispers against the bars, her breath ghosting over his lip. She won't meet his eyes. "I don't remember."

He waits, sensing there is more. Knowing that it will come when she is ready.

And then it does.

"My first husband." She speaks so quietly that Robin has to be sure he hasn't imagined it.

"The King," he says.

"I was barely a woman the first time—" She trails off but Robin understands and he squeezes her hand.

"You are free of him, Regina. And I will never let anyone hurt you like that again."

And she believes him, because he stopped the attack. And he has been saving her from the beginning.

And maybe, even, because she cares for him.

Suddenly the fires at the mouth of the cave are swept out and something large crashes into the top of the cage, rattles the bars and crows into the air.

It is animal and not human.

Robin looks up, hand jumping to the blade in his boot, and sees yellow eyes and curved claws.

"What is it?" Regina asks, voice a rasp.

"Something that does not belong in this realm," Robin says, because he has hunted every manner of creature in these forests and beyond, and he would remember eyes like that.

"It fly's," Regina says, nodding to the leather wings that flap above.

They whisper between them, unsure of the intention of the creature.

The black wings drag along the roof of the cage, webbed tips falling between hollow slats. It paces above them. Waits.

And stares.

With a violent tug, Robin grabs hold of a wing and wrenches towards the ground, pulling the creature flush against the bars above. He reaches for the knife that is tucked in his boot and cuts through the flesh of the beast, sawing off a wing.

The creature claws and screeches, a terrible, shrill sound, like the banshees that haunt the dark woods. It rings through the cave and sends men running. They arrive with weapons drawn, but the beast has already disappeared, exploding through the hole in the roof of the cave, where once moonlight shone down.

"What has happened?" one of the men ask of the group. He does not look at Robin or Regina, but around and over his shoulder, like a spook might appear.

"She summons us," someone says.

"No. The orders were to wait."

"Her spies have been set upon us. She calls." This man is nervous, clearly unprepared to deal with whoever this witch is.

"Move them outside," the leader says with a wave of his sword. "Where we can keep an eye on them."

Robin conceals his grin.

This is what he needs.

To be free of the cage.

The men enter as a pair, one draws a sword to Robin's neck, the other binds his hands behind his back. Robin is calm. This is what he has wanted. He makes two fists, bulking up his hands. When they are forced together he holds them side by side and the man ties the ropes. Robin smirks and waits with the sword to his back while Regina is tied, and then they are escorted outside.

In the daylight Robin assess quickly.

There are only six men left in camp. Three wield swords. One is loading supplies on the wagon and the others tend to the small fire.

Robin likes his odds and acts, for he may never get another chance.

He pulls against his bonds, turning his hands flat against each other. Now that his fists are open the rope is slack and he is no longer bound. He takes the rope and throws it over the man with the sword at his waist, choking him from behind.

Another man runs to his defense, but Robin is swift, moving the first into the line of fire. It is his chest that takes the sword instead.

With a thrust of his boot Robin catches the attacker in the chest and sends him spiraling to the ground, hitting the dust with a defeated _whoosh, _his head cracking sharply against a rock. He does not get up_. _The man trapped by his rope bleeds now, and Robin drops him to finish the rest. The third man with the sword is already rushing him, but his foot tangles on a ground root and he sprawls forward, right into Robin's waiting arms, catching a knife square in the stomach. Robin lurches, driving the metal through screaming lungs, inflicting maximum damage, before wrenching his arm back.

This man drops as well.

The boy loading the wagon has disappeared, fled into the safety of the trees Robin assumes as he presses down on his first victim, the one that has been impaled by his companion's sword.

"Who sent you?" he demands. "Into my camp?"

"W—witch," he stammers out, blood pooling along his lower lip.

"Why?" It is a growl, as fierce as any lion.

The man strains to look around, eyes resting on Regina. "She needs your blood," he chokes, Robin's boot now crushing his windpipe. The hole in his chest is enough to kill him, but he will suffer long into the night, when the animals will descend to begin a feast on someone not yet dead.

"I can make this easier, or harder," Robin growls, pressing more weight against the man. "Why does the witch need the Queen's blood?"

"Poison," is all the man manages to choke out before his eyes roll into his head.

"He is unconscious," Robin says, bending to hear the whoosh of air as it runs from filthy lungs.

"Just end it," Regina tells him.

Robin turns and looks at her, the torn expression on her face, the way her arms cower around her. She feels some kind of remorse for this man. This wretch of a person.

"End his suffering. Be done with it."

Robin looks down again, and into the eyes of the man that jerks unconsciously against the pain. He rouses again, eyes fluttering. "She always gets what she wants," he says.

Regina shakes her head somberly, and straightens as much as her tired limbs will let her. "Not today."

With a swift arm, Robin brings the blade down, cutting into flesh. He is sure to sever what causes the man's life to linger and after a moment he is no more.

The other two by the fire gawk terribly. They are frozen to their seats. Panicking when Robin's sights turn to them. At Regina's request he lets them flee because they are not men, but boys recruited to do heavy work.

They are innocent, he tells himself. Has to remind himself as his fingers itch to find the string of his bow. He can still hit them from this far.

He looks over his shoulder to finding Regina there, standing after so many days of weakness. She still looks sick, her skin pale, her cheeks flushed. But there is something so satisfying in seeing her up. It brings him hope.

The sun kisses her skin gently and she looks up to find its face but there is a shadow above, like a vulture, winging down towards the ground.

And the winged beast appears from the trees again, and dives towards her, feet outstretched. There is a flash of black and a jubilant screech as the monkey thrusts his claws into the wound beneath her ribs. It tears right through her night dress and the seams of the stitches and rips open the skin, finding a pool of blood before diving back into the air.

_She always gets what she wants, _Regina hears, the words echoing in her mind.

The next thing she knows she is falling—down, down, down—back towards the ground.

* * *

**So . . . reviews are nice. So are hugs. But since I can't give you those, take this instead.**

**Chapter 7 Teaser:**

He catches her as she falls, her body slack in his arms. The blood flows freely, quickly down her front. Robin presses his hands against the wound, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, feeling the blood pump beneath his palms. "Heal yourself," he begs her, his voice a terrified mess of shivers. He collapses under her dead weight. "Use your magic."

"You said . . ." And she is so tired.

"Just a little," he pleads. "Just enough."

She chokes in his arms. ". . . I can't."


	7. Chapter 7

The air around him hisses, a thousand words buzzing in his ears, screaming for release. Robin lunges for Regina, eyes flipping from her face, contorted in agony, to the rush of blood that paints her red.

He catches her as she falls, her body slack in his arms. The blood flows freely, quickly, down her front, along her stomach and hip and thigh. Robin presses his hands against the wound, feeling the hot rush pulse beneath his palms with each erratic heartbeat. "Heal yourself," he begs her, crushing her skin beneath his hand. It's slipping. Pooling. There is too much blood and not enough time. His eyes search her face imploringly and his breath shakes. "Use your magic."

The words are forced between his teeth.

Regina is stunned, reeling and reeling, for this is a nightmare and not possibly reality. She looks back at him, eyes glassy. Cold has started in her fingertips, moving slowly up through her hands. "You said . . ." And she loses her train of thought. She is so tired. And he is warm, arms holding her tight.

Robin chokes on a gasp and his lips shudder.

He knows what he said. What he's told her over and over. No magic. _No magic!_ He knows why he said it. But it doesn't matter now. The poison and pain. It won't matter if she's dead. "Just a little," he pleads. "Use just enough."

There will be great pain if she does, he knows this. The magic will feed the poison, awaken it from her veins, send it swirling and piercing and grinding against her muscles, but there is no choice. Not one he can bare.

"Do it!" he growls, stopping himself short of shaking her. Everything spins so violently, out of control, away from him. She slips and he is not ready to let go.

". . . I can't. It hurts."

"I know," he says, stroking a finger down the side of her face. "The poison."

She shakes her head, eyes fluttering, chest heaving.

Robin's voice cracks. "Please. Do it for your son. For me. Heal yourself." He is begging now and his eyes fill with tears because he wants so much to keep her safe and he can't do that now, now as she pales in his arms and grows so cold she might snap.

Her head drops against her chest and then back, straining her neck.

"Regina!" Robin shouts, calling for her attention. "Look at me!" He holds her face between his fingers, grip tight against her jaw. "Right here, Regina!"

Her eyes flutter again, catching brief glimpses of the man who holds her, holds her as she lies dying.

And the cold spreads, up her arms and through her feet. And she is exhausted beyond anything she's ever felt and she just wants to close her eyes, because everything is heavy, but he won't let her.

He holds her face and calls her name.

She just wants to sleep.

But he's insistent, his voice hoarse and scared, and she doesn't want him to be frightened. She looks up at him, hoping to soothe him, for the pain in his face strikes her as hard and as fast as the creature had. This man, her thief, who has done nothing but try to save her over and over, and now she slips away from him.

He bends, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Please, Regina," he whispers like a prayer.

It is pure desperation in his voice and the sheer panic of it rouses something deep in Regina: some inner strength, maybe the last of whatever she has.

She shakes as she moves, bringing her arms to her stomach and he helps, steadies her hands over the wound with his own. He feels the warm glow of energy pass beneath his fingers and when he looks at her all the colour has drained from her face, whether it is from blood loss or the poison, he can't be sure.

Purple smoke erupts from under his hands and it sends spirals of energy up his arms.

Regina groans, her teeth clench, trying to maintain control. She cringes and sobs, the purple haze pulsing around her.

Robin tears his eyes away from her face and looks down at her dress, moving their hands to reveal the silk material the claws have left in shreds. The skin beneath it glows pink, raw new skin closing as he waits. There is still blood everywhere, drying on her skin, soaking into the rest of the night dress, spiraling down her leg, but it no longer flows from her, and with that Robin takes his first real breath.

Regina has gone limp with exertion, her face falling against his chest. He pulls her close, tucking her against him long enough to kiss her forehead. "It will be okay," he whispers. Promises.

The horse he chooses is a white mare, saddled and strong. Robin props Regina up in the saddle and then takes the reins behind her, arms tucked around her waist to hold her to him.

The mare is fast, like lightning between the trees, as Robin presses her harder and harder, determined to make the castle ground before nightfall. Regina moans now, exhaustion having worn off. The colour in her face has him worried beyond anything. She is pale like a washed out beach. The poison is draining her energy. Her strength. Everything.

When the great stone archways appear in the distance Robin feels his heart leap. They've almost made it. He digs his heels into the horse and clicks his tongue.

"The gates!" he hears Charming call as they draw near. The heavy iron checkerboard gate is draw upwards by strong hands.

The horse plows across the moat and into the courtyard before Robin thinks to slow her. "Draw up the bridge and bar the doors. No one leaves," he tells Charming and the princess who has appeared with a worried expression. "There is an evil out there."

"The blood?" Snow says, voice cracking with shock. She runs up to the horse, hands against Regina's leg. "There's so much of it."

Robin jumps down, catching Regina as she tips from the saddle. He holds her bridal style, wrapping his arms beneath her legs and around her shoulders. Her head lags and her arm falls from her chest, hanging with no direction, no intention, by her side. Snow sobs, hands making a cradle beneath Regina's head. There has been so much loss already. Emma and Henry, and she doesn't think she can handle anymore. "What has happened?" she asks when she thinks her voice is strong enough.

"There was an attack," Robin tries to explain, silently pleading with her to understand. "A foul beast that came from the air." He turns with Regina in his arms. "She needs help."

"Yes, of course," Snow says, wiping her eyes and pulling herself together.

Charming nods and looks to an attendant by the front doors. "Fetch Doc and Granny. Now!" He turns his sights back to Robin, a hand moving to rest on his shoulder. "Come inside."

They are met in the front hall by Doc, all grey hair and glasses, who is only just starting to explore the remnants of the old room he once occupied as an office of sorts. The same office princess Snow once came to for help with her morning sickness all those years ago. A lifetime it seems.

Regina fades between reality and dream, dark and light, but she recognizes the castle easily. Robin ascends the grand staircase with her still tucked in his arms. Doc leads, he is small, but quick, opening doors and ushering people out of the way.

They come upon a stone hall with magnificent windows that look upon the castle grounds. There are images stained into the glass: horses and knights and princesses with hair that stretches beyond the sun.

Regina feels a hollow sickness claw at the base of her throat and she whimpers.

Robin pulls her closer, lips brushing her forehead again. It brings him relief, to feel the warmth still there.

Doc pauses outside a wide set of mahogany doors. They are carved in intricate designs and inlaid with hundreds of precious jewels. When the suns light strikes the doorway it sends a rainbow of colour up and down the hall, basking Regina in a deep turquoise and she shrieks, startling Robin.

Her voice rises and pitches, head moving against his chest so violently that Robin has to bunch her nightdress between his fingers just to keep from dropping her.

"Regina?" he says, face drawn into a frown.

She shakes in his arms and clings to him, face turned away from the door. "Not here," she manages, eyes wide and terrified when she looks up at him. "Please." Her hands snake up his chest and her grip on his collar is tight, like she means never to let go.

Silent understanding falls upon him. This is where she became the Queen, in body and soul.

"Another room," Robin demands. "Any other."

Doc is confused, hand on the massive silver lock, ready to swing the door open, but with a nod he obliges, leading Robin down another hall past another row of armoured statues and old tapestries.

The room they come to next is smaller, and far less grand than the Queen's chambers, a servant's quarters perhaps, but Regina doesn't care. She'll stay in the dungeons if she has to.

Robins lays her on the bed and backs away, giving Doc room to work.

A procession of people seem to come and go from the room and Robin has a hard time keeping track. Granny arrives, Ruby in tow. She assesses Regina, every cut and scrap and bruise, then sends the wolf-girl off into the bowels of the castle with a list of ingredients and supplies to fetch.

Snow and Charming take shifts, one having to help organize the people that have poured into the castle, for Grumpy is loud, but not very personable and they can hear the commotion coming from the great hall every time he attempts to assign a room.

Then there are the faces he doesn't recognize, staff of some sort, he assumes, fallen back into their roles now that they have returned home. They bring chairs and tables; fill the closets with gowns, all manner of staples required by the Queen once she is well again.

They are setting up her room he realizes. But it all seems so unnecessary in this moment, this moment when Regina screams and shakes, the veins in her neck threatening to burst.

What use is a hairbrush when all she wants to do it rip the hair from her head?

He almost buckles under the weight of it all. He wants to shout, but instead the words emerge closer to tears. "I'm sorry," he says, pacing the room, for this pain is his fault, because he asked her to do magic when he knew it would hurt her, but he was selfish and he couldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever.

She screams again, splayed out on the bed like something possessed. Her limbs flail.

"Do something," Snow cries, clinging to the bedpost.

There is a rustle of movement and Doc produces something from the case he has open on the floor. It is a thin blue tube, corked with a black stopper. He breaks the seal and with a sigh moves to Regina. "Drink," he instructs, tipping the vial to her lips. The liquid is white and pours like cream, burns as soon as it touches her tongue. She splutters and turns, pulling her face away.

But Doc is still there with his hand on the back of her head. "You must drink it," he tells her. Orders in that gravely, ancient voice of his.

When Regina refuses she finds herself pinned down, Robin at her head, smoothing back her hair and hushing her in his deep voice. Granny leans across and pinches her nose, causing Regina to inhale deep, mouth open, and Doc drains the rest of the vial down her throat.

They release her and Regina screams, lunging forward with her hands on her throat. Somewhere the vial smashes to the ground, but all eyes are trained on Regina and no one is concerned with the glass that litters the floor. Her eyes roll back, white swirls of colourless smoke passing through them. And she tips forward, all the feeling gone from her body. She no longer has the strength to sit up, or the desire.

"What is this?" Robin asks, pulling the shattered pieces of glass from the floor. A single drop of liquid falls to his hand and immediately he recoils and hisses, striking his hand against his pant leg for whatever it is, stings like a thousand bees.

"Anamanthea," Doc says, pressing Regina back against her pillows. "Extracted from the poppy flower. It will act like a sedative for the time being. There is no way to know what state she will be in when she wakes."

"Then we'll give her more," Snow says. "Until she is better."

"She may never be better, princess." Doc swallows hard and looks up over his glasses. "In all reality, she may only get worse."

Snow opens her mouth to speak, but her lips quiver and she simply shuts them, nods, and dismisses herself to find Charming. Granny has busied herself with Regina's clothing and with a dismissive wave, ushers Robin and Doc from the room, intent on cleaning up the Queen. She has spent one too many nights in the beat-up night dress and, covered in all the blood, looks more like something that has crawled out of the Dark Forest.

Robin claps Doc on the back when they enter the hall and thanks him mightily, but there is dread in the dwarf's eyes.

"What is it that worries your mind, friend?"

"The plant," Doc says. "It is a dangerous thing in concentrated form. Too much in your system and there is no waking up."

Robin looks behind him as the door swings shut, the last image of Regina blazed into his mind. "Do you fear she has had too much?"

"No," Doc says. "With any hope it will be just enough. Enough to get her through the worst of the pain that comes from the poison." He looks at Robin, brows pinched.

"Then what is it?"

"I have no more. And poppies are rare in this realm." Doc sighs and adjusts the frames that slip from his nose. "Come morning, if she is no better, there will be very little I can do."

"The poison has no known cure," Robin says, swallowing the truth of his words and what they mean. "So there is already very little I can do for her now, too."

The silence stretches and then, "How long can she live with it?"

"That is unknown," Robin says, arms folded across his chest, if only to stop them from shaking. "Her magic calls to it, empowers it, and hurts her for it, but I think her magic is also the only thing keeping her alive."

"How is it that you know so much about this?"

Robin swallows again, his throat becoming more and more restricted. "My wife died of the same thing. There was a raid on our camp and she was struck by a blade dipped in Nightlock. She survived only a week. Long enough to give birth to my son."

"I'm sorry," Doc says and his smile is sincere.

Robin nods tightly. "Regina has already outlived that timeframe and sometimes I think the poison is waning, until she uses her magic again—" He pauses. "But it is like a shield on her at other times, coating her from its clutches."

"Then the only way to keep her alive is to have her not use her magic."

Robin chuckles but it is empty and sad. "That has proven to be more difficult than you can imagine."

"She is safe now," Doc assures him, a thick hand grasping Robin's forearm. "Behind these castle walls no harm will come to her, not while the Prince stands over it."

"But how long can she remain locked up?" Robin says. "A prisoner in her own castle?"

Doc's face falls and his next expression is grim. "How long do you want her to live?"

When Granny opens the door to allow Robin in, he rushes to Regina's side to find her in a new nightdress, this one deep blue, a royal blue, befitting of a Queen. It is stark against her pale skin. Raven hair has been braided loosely down her neck and her hands are folded just below her chest.

She is beautiful. Truly the fairest he has ever seen.

But she looks dead and because of this he stays in her room, even when his limbs protest and Snow comes and goes, insisting that he get some rest. He has to see for himself the rise and fall of her chest. Has to check that she still breathes. Twice he checks the bandages on Regina's feet, satisfied with the work Granny has done. Between the vial of poppy extract and the healing creams Granny has used, Regina sleeps soundly. The work of the monkey has been repaired and for the first time in a long time Robin hopes for a day when there is nothing for Regina to bear pain from.

He stays in her chambers all through the night, perched like a dusk-hawk on the window ledge. He breathes in the freedom of the wind that wafts in through the window, inhales the scent of quiet stillness from where the forest meets the sea. Pine and salt. So different and yet always nestled beside each other.

He puffs again on his pipe, eyes awake in the darkness. He has watched the Queen stir beneath her sheets for many hours now. Counted the time between breaths. She is uncomfortable, he can tell, whether it is because she is stiff from sleep, or because something internal has awoken, he is unsure, but there is pain. The escaped murmurs and hitched notes speak as much. But he cannot give her anything with waking her first, and he knows from experience that sometimes sleep is the only refuge from the true degree of pain. It could be much worse if he should waken her.

To his surprise it is Regina who pulls herself from the dregs of sleep.

He is off the ledge and by her side, crouched down by the bed, and soon as her head lifts.

"What is it that you need?" He holds her hand in his. "Tell me and I shall fetch it. Doc? Granny? Are you in pain?"

Regina shakes her head and simply tugs on his hand, pulling him to her. He stands, then crawls upon the bed beside her. She tucks her head to his chest. "Stay with me," she breathes.

He rests his chin atop her head and gently squeezes her to him, hand trailing up and down her spine. "Always," he whispers. "Always."

* * *

**. . . and so it begins from here on in -fluffy fluff- for a while at least, because I've spent enough time trying to kill Regina, so now she needs some happy times . . .**

**Thanks for reading! And reviewing. **

**Big Question here: I'm trying to decide on the direction of this story and right now it is really hinging on Henry. Do you want Regina to be reunited with him eventually or are we sticking to a purely enchanted forest story? Let me know what you'd like to see in a review. **

**:)**


	8. Chapter 8

When morning comes to the castle, basking the grand stone turrets in golden light, Granny is the first to appear outside the single wooden door usually reserved for the service staff. Today it houses the Queen. She knocks once to the sound of silence before slipping through the door. She moves like a mouse, sturdy and sure in her footing, leaving a tray of food at the end of the bed.

She does not blink twice at the sight of Robin tucked around Regina, but smiles and nods to herself. It's about time the Queen has someone to take care of her. She leaves and returns later with a second tray of food and when she comes upon a little boy in the hall she takes him by the hand and leads him to the kitchens for breakfast, leaving Regina and Robin to the peace of sleep for a little while longer.

Robin wakes first, pulled from sleep by the smell of bacon. He untangles himself from Regina, taking time to let it sink in, that he holds her so, and then sits, slow, so as not to disturb her from the slumber she still seeks, and eats.

In his absence Regina lets out a sigh, and tucks herself further into the pillows. Giant puffs of feathery-down engulfing her like a cloud.

Robin just stares, entranced, his grin lopsided and his heart a mess of strange flutters and uneven beats. He struggles desperately between the desire to kiss her awake and the need to wrap himself around her once more, but before he can act on either she stirs, eyelashes fluttering to reveal the sleepy chocolate depths below.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, groggy with sleep. She scrunches her nose at the smell of warm bread, the aroma stirring the hunger inside her, coaxing her out from under the warmth of the covers. The blue nightgown drapes over her as she sits, revealing little but the curves below, and still it is enough to send him to pieces. She is like the moon and stars, wondrous, appearing only on clear nights for those lucky enough to think to glimpse them.

He waits now, wondering if she too will disappear with the day. She shakes her head at him, lips pursed, her hair a loose mess around her face.

She is completely at ease. Free in a way that he suspects he will see very seldom, especially now that they are in the castle, surrounded by her people.

But he likes the way she slouches beside him, arms wrapped around her knees, and the way her eyes dart in his direction, only to fall away when she sees that he is still watching her intently. Likes the way her head dips to hide her smile.

Oh, that smile.

It sends his heart racing.

And his mind singing.

She is stunning.

He has fallen quickly. Now he wonders when he will hit the ground and how hard it will be. Perhaps he shouldn't move this fast.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, clearing his sights of her long, slender neck.

To hell with it he thinks. He will fall hard and fast. That's all he can do.

"What are you staring at?" she asks again, tipping her head slightly.

If only she could see herself the way he does. If only he could put everything he sees into words.

"You," he says simply, slipping a thumb inside his mouth to lick the bacon grease that has settled there.

Regina catches his stare and holds it, for she has never been in a stranger situation in her life, with someone that, despite everything, is a stranger himself. She regards this Robin Hood, this man that she shares the covers with, who has seen a lot of her in the past weeks, who goes out of his way to ensure her survival, even at the risk of his own life.

His eyes are tired, from many sleepless nights she guesses, mostly at her expense, and there are lines by his eyes that show his worry. His face is sun worn and he hasn't shaved, but beneath it all he is handsome, she notes. And his smile runs deep; deeper she thinks, when he looks at her. And with that thought her cheeks flame and she pulls at the piece of bread on her plate, popping crumbs into her mouth, savouring the sweet taste and the fact that it melts on her tongue like butter.

Regardless of everything; what this means and what it doesn't mean, he is a good man. Her outlaw. An honorable man, she gives him that, for he has not once overstepped, nor did he eat her bacon while she slept.

"How do you feel?" he asks after a beat, sinking his teeth into his own warm bread.

Regina swallows and shrugs in a way that is neither convincing nor worrisome, only accepting. "Like I need a good, stiff drink." Robin tilts his head curiously, but she just laughs. An easy feat when he's near. "I'm okay," she assures him. "Surprisingly."

"You aren't in any pain?"

She breathes deep for his sake, and hers. She feels the sharp knife jab hit below her ribs. _Too deep_, she thinks, but she plays her face into a gentle, grateful smile. "No," she tells him. "No pain."

And truly the lie isn't as bad as it seems. Because this pain, the pain that heals and that buries the poison within her once more, it is a good pain, one she can manage to bear without too much effort or stress. Compared to those days prior, when she thought the fires of hell had finally taken hold of her, it is even welcomed.

Robin twists his lips, unsure of what to make of her, or the miraculous recovery. Perhaps Doc's poppy potion works still, basking her insides in an unfeeling light. Or perhaps the poison has receded enough for her not to be affected. Either way he is glad of the news, though he watches her closely. "You gave us quite the scare," he says.

"Yes, well. If I can manage not to get tangled up in the evil schemes of any more witches we shouldn't have anything to worry about." Her words are bitter and tired. She's endured a lot over the past several days. But she's hit the truth faster than he planned.

"Yes," he says. "We must talk of that. Charming and the princess ask for our attendance in the dining hall at noon time. There is to be a meeting."

Regina nods and sips the tea that Granny has left on her tray. She supposes that is the first order of business they must attend to if there is to be a new threat against the castle. She sighs wistfully. Is there always to be some sort of threat hunting them now?

Her face twists at the thought, but it is the sourness of the tea that sends her gagging. The back of her hand draws up to cover her lips, to keep her from spitting it down her front. Her eyes press together and she swallows hard.

She feels Robin's hand on her shoulder, warm even through the silk nightgown. "The tea leaves something to be desired," she says, by way of explanation.

Robin leans over, and takes the cup that she offers willingly. He inhales deeply the smoke that drifts from the top and nods approvingly. "Boiled lemongrass," he says. "Good for fever and soreness and healing." He hands her the cup once more, much to her dismay and with a sigh traces his finger across the bandage that runs from her elbow, circling around to her wrist.

Regina grimaces, comes closer to pouting than she ever would have imagined herself, especially in the company of another.

At the look of pure childish revulsion draped across her face, Robin can't help but smirk. "We'll work on getting you that stiff drink."

And they share a laugh, one that leaves them red faced and breathless. Regina is the first to stop, feeling oddly intimate in a way she hasn't felt in years, decades even. This stranger has somehow snuck behind her defenses and rooted himself by her side, and as she looks at him, blue eyes glowing, she isn't entirely sure she has the energy to push him away.

She isn't even sure she wants to.

The door to her room suddenly bursts open, revealing a cherry-cheeked Snow White.

"Regina," she cries, nearly throwing herself on the Queen, grasping her shoulders tightly. Regina struggles to swallow the wince that has buckled her eyes. Only Robin sees this and he bites his tongue for the moment but gives her a glare, one that says _we'll talk about this later_. "It is good to see that you are well. Granny said that you looked well in sleep but I had to see for myself."

"Yes, dear," Regina manages, relieved when Snow releases her, freeing her lungs of the added weight. "I'm doing quite well, I think."

"She needs to eat," Granny huffs, appearing in the room as suddenly as Snow had. She clears the trays from the end of the bed, shaking her head at Regina's half eaten bread. She busies herself about the room, cleaning and griping at the sad state of Regina's cheek bones.

And Regina can feel it. The past few days have left her almost empty inside. Being held captive has not made for the most ideal hospitality.

She can feel the grime and blood as well, like a second skin on her, despite Granny's best attempts, and if her reflection in the window bares any resemblance, then her hair is in wild disarray. Long tufts of black sticking out of her braid, falling along her neck and by the side of her face. A bed head if she's ever seen one.

"Well," Regina sighs. "There will be time for food later. I think I am more in need of a bath than anything else."

And with that the room is dismissed. Granny drags Robin away with the promise of seeing his son face deep in a stack of pancakes and Snow leaves once an attendant has been appointed to draw Regina's bathwater in the adjacent bathroom.

The attendant, a young girl with curly golden hair and small brown eyes, bows low, her eyes trained on the floor. "Will there be anything else, your Majesty?"

Regina shakes her head, but sees that the girl still looks at the molded stone floor, so instead responds with a gentle, "No. Thank you."

She takes her time in the water, sinking until only her head surfaces. The heat does wonders on her muscles, loosening tight knots and freeing her skin of the layers of dirt that have embedded beneath her cells.

There are sweet smelling soaps piled alongside the tub. Apple blossoms and vanilla with mint. She chooses several and adds them to the water, watching the colours swirl and disappear as a magnificent mist. She sinks beneath the water again, content to wrinkle for the next half hour.

When she pulls herself from the water it is to the protest of her muscles and the skin along her abdomen. It has softened in the water, but still remains tight. It is bright pink; like newly laid flesh and Regina knows it will take some time to heal. She wasn't able to finish the spell; not completely.

She creams and dresses, choosing something simple; a pale blue dress with a tight corset, conservative but pretty, with a skirt that drapes at the hips. It is a far cry from the black gowns and leather that makes her feel every bit the Evil Queen and that is perhaps why she is drawn to this dress, for it is meaningless. It does not evoke power or induce fear, at least, she hopes not.

Her hair is braided loosely along the crown of her head, tied off at the back to contain the wavy, wet curls that fall past her shoulders. She does not have the energy for anything more elaborate, and with a small amount of light makeup applied across her cheeks and her eyes, leaves the room, abandoning everything that once made her the Evil Queen. Her walls and her strength. _What used to be her strength_, she amends. It hangs in the closet, where she plans to have it stay.

She wanders down the corridor, almost running into the thief who waits in the shadows with his back to her.

She catches herself as he spins.

"Milady. You look well." He lingers so close she can feel his breath against her neck. "You smell quite wonderful too," he says.

"That is rather forward," she replies. It is not accusing, but simply an acknowledgment. Her lips curl regardless.

He shrugs. "I think we are a bit past forward, Milady."

She hums in gentle agreement. Breakfast in bed did make them more than just friends, didn't it? But what exactly she couldn't say, so resigns herself to name him the thief—her thief—once again. "It is amazing what a little soap and water will do," she says finally, when he has stepped away to walk by her side.

"How do you feel?" he asks, his tone as serious as his narrowed eyes.

"Well enough," she says.

"But you are still in pain."

"It is nothing compared to what it was." She assures him with a gentle squeeze against his arm. "Granny's tea is doing wonders."

"Good. She will bring you another during the meeting."

His comment sours Regina's cheeks. "If I must," she says.

He nods fervently. "You must."

He leads her down a hall and up two flights of stairs. She lets him lead, though she knows the way, for that way he does not see her wince with the amount of stairs.

Sensing her discomfort anyhow, Robin slows, and hooks his arm, allowing her to slips hers into it.

Together they make their way to the conference room, a deep hall with tall, ornately decorated windows and harsh white marble floors.  
"Regina," Charming says, laying a hand upon her shoulder when they enter. "You had us worried."

"Yes," she muses sardonically. "Apparently it's the season of the Queen."

Charming frowns. "It is not the people that seek to hurt you," he says. "But there is something dark at play in this world. Robin has told us of the creature that attacked you."

Regina remembers it only in glimpses, mostly of pain, and they have faded now. The creature is all but a black blur in her memory. "Yes," she agrees, because not being able to remember the creature does nothing to subdue the terror that rises in her chest whenever it is mentioned. "Those vile things must belong to this witch."

"Nothing can get into the castle though," Snow says, appearing at Charming's side. Her hands wrap around his upper arm, like she clings to him for support. "There are powerful protective enchantments here."

Regina nods. "Left over from the first curse."

Snow nods at the confirmation. "So as long as you remain here, you are safe." It is a statement, but Regina can sense the hesitancy in Snow's answer. Was she really safe? Were any of them safe?

"Yes," Regina says, to soothe the worry that spreads across Snow's brow. "It appears so."

A loud throat clearing breaks them apart. "Sister, you've planned a meeting, so let's have a meeting!"

For the first time Regina notices that Ruby and the dwarves sit at a round table in the center of the room. There are others present as well, some Regina can recognize from Storybrooke and some that look as if they have come from her order of black knights. It is hard to tell now that they now longer wear the piercing black suits or carry arms against the very people they share the table with.

Some of Robin's men have also made an appearance. Little John, who is not so little compared to his flanks, Sleepy and Doc. Even young Will is here, eager and attentive. He offers her a beaming smile, flashing a row of straight teeth, and a small wave, but all she can do is stare in return.

She clenches her fist and swallows, pausing behind Snow and Charming instead of following them. The room feels daunting now. She is uncomfortable in the presence of all these people, those she once tried to kill, then saved, and now is meant to work with, and it is only Robin's hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward whether she wants to or not, that makes her feet move.

Snow and Charming wait, unseated, concern evident in their eyes. It is a demanding voice that catches them all from the other side of the room.

"Sit," Granny commands and they do, slipping into seats that have been saved between Robin's own band of Merry Men. Granny serves drinks and sweets, and passes Regina a single mug, still steaming, and watches as she takes a sip.

The tea leaves a sticky taste on the end of her tongue, but Regina swallows mouthful after mouthful, much to her displeasure.

"It's not very tasty," Granny says with a nod and a wink. "But it works."

She takes the empty mug from Regina and sets off to the kitchens once again, calling something about making an early dinner over her shoulder.

Charming is the first to speak.

"We must find out more about this new threat," he begins. "How far the witch's power extends into this realm."

"She has taken residence in the Dark Castle," Robin says without a doubt. "At the very least we know that we share close borders with her."

"Then she has access to some very dark magic." Regina swallows. "Rumple will have had his own protection left to guard his castle when the first curse hit."

Charming rubs the back of his neck before slamming his fist on the table. "So we assume her to be extremely dangerous. And until we gather more information no one leaves the castle grounds unaccompanied."

"Agreed," the dwarves holler in unison.

It is decided among the group that two of the dwarves will escort Ruby on a scouting mission, for they think a wolf will draw far less attention in the woods, and far less more near the Dark Castle than a group of royals.

It is to no surprise that Regina finds herself confined to the courtyards of the castle, and though she could argue, use her power and might and title to get everything just the way she wants, she isn't sure that she has a problem with the arrangement.

In fact, she has no immediate plans to leave the castle, not while the thief is here and not while her best chance at getting back to Henry will be in one of the ancient tomes that fill the dusty dungeon shelves.

Perhaps she will even find a way to cure the poison that still rests in her gut. Or else figure out where exactly this witch has come from. And she would start with the monkeys, if that's what they were. Robin's descriptions of the creature paint an eerie picture.

Black shapes with wings.

Flying monkeys.

Regina had thought she'd seen everything jumping between the realms, but apparently not.

The group leaves the conference room and makes for the dining hall. The meeting has run late, and Granny has already been serving the crowds of people that now take up residence in the castle. Having the entirety of her little Maine town underfoot is both a blessing and a curse. Never has the dining hall been so full, but she cannot pretend that she doesn't enjoy how invisible she is right now.

"Queen Gina!" Roland cries when he sees her enter the dining hall. Several groups of people look up, faces drawn in short gasps because the woman they see before them does not resemble the Queen at all and they don't know whether to clap or gawk.

Well, she thinks. She almost went unnoticed.

Roland has spied her from across the room, his little head bobbing amongst the Merry Men.

"He has been asking after you," Robin says over his shoulder. With an inviting jerk of his head he leads her over to the long wooden table that his men occupy. Roland stands on the seats between them, using Little John's shoulder for support.

"Gina!" he calls again as they approach. "Sit with me!"

And it is to that request that Little John is forced to move to the other side of the table, leaving room for two in his wake. Regina looks at Robin curiously, but he simply nods and with an offered hand, helps her into her seat, before walking the table to take the one across from her, for Roland is determined that no one sit next to the Queen but him.

Dinner is simple. Bread and meat and wine, but it goes over well with the crowd and as long as people are eating they are not asking questions, or staring, so Regina is content.

Even little Roland is happy to munch away so long as Regina doesn't leave his side.

When she stands to refill her glass Roland turns to her, eyes wide, and his lips tremble. "You're leaving?" he questions. "But you just got here."

"No," she says, wrapping her hand under Roland's chin. "Of course not."

He watches her skeptically, but Will offers to pour her wine so her glass is passed down the table by the Merry Men.

When it returns, she bends across the table to take it from John and Robin almost drops his bread. The view is more than he's prepared for and because of it the table snickers. Quickly Robin schools his face and drops his gaze, intent on hiding his true desire in the midst of his rambunctious group of Merry Men.

For it is common knowledge that Robin has shared a bed with the Queen. Slept soundly by her side, held her close, rescued her from the grips of death, and even kissed her, but whatever this is between them, the red hot desire grows worse with every passing day. With every moment he spends in her company, for he cannot bear be away from her for long, and neither can Roland.

The want and need to touch her, to hold her, it becomes like the beacon that calls him forward, onward, that has him rise each morning before her just to watch the dawn strike her features in new morning light.

She smiles at him, a little shyly, because there is nervousness now. Now that she is no longer in danger or broken with pain, she has her head about her, and knows very well what is happening. Knows exactly what happened on those dark nights when she wished for death. How he held her. How he cared for her.

And for that she is grateful. But being that vulnerable frightens her terribly, because trust has never brought her anything but misery and she is worried that she has already given him too much of her heart, devoted to much to the little boy that calls her to sit next to him.

For what if this all ends terribly wrong?

And she is left alone again.

She sits back down, swirling the wine in her cup.

How many times can a heart break before it refuses to be repaired? Before the pieces can no longer fit together?

But how long can she deny herself this happiness, the feeling that lingers around her, hers for the taking?

"Is something wrong with your food, Milady?"

Regina looks up, realizing that she has spent far too long staring at the plate before her. "No," she says with an easy smile, pushing the food away. "I guess I'm not that hungry."

Robin looks quizzically at her, like he's trying to decode some ancient secret trapped in her eyes. "You need your strength," he encourages.

"I had a rather large breakfast," she concludes, sipping her wine.

"You are a terrible liar."

She regards him a moment, wondering if he will press her, but he does not, only watches with a crooked brow.

It is later, when she retires to her room, that she finds the tray of sweet bread that has been laid at the end of her bed. It is still warm, fresh from the ovens, and smothered in honey, something thick and rich, pulled right from the hive.

Her stomach grumbles the longer she breathes in the smell and eventually she caves, breaking off a squared portion and dropping it against her tongue. It is wonderful and light, filling her quickly.

There is a knock on her door that stirs her from the meal and sends her across the room.

She pulls open the door, careful to use that hand that is not still covered in honey.

Robin waits on the other side, shoulder pressed casually against the door frame.

"Milady," he says.

"Thief," she replies with a curious smile. She licks her finger, the one that dove against the bread, pulling at melted pools of honey.

Robin is so intrigued by her that he almost forgets why he's come. What excuse he's arranged so he can see her once more before she goes to sleep.

Now that she is well, at least well enough to move around the castle of her own accord, laying by her side seems like something that should be invited on her part, and he does not want to push her, but wants her to long for his presence the way he does hers, not only when she is ill, but when she is of sound mind and body. He knows it will take time, because she is stubborn in her graces, but he holds on to the small smiles and whispered thank yous she gives him, because those she offers freely, and it is much more than she gives to the others, except for maybe Roland, who still receives warm kisses to his cheek with little prompting.

"You didn't have to do this," she tells him, gesturing to the tray behind her. She is glad he did, though.

Robin pulls himself from the spell and threads his hands into his pockets. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

He is a liar.

Regina's smile is knowing and smug. "Will Granny be harping about a missing cake in the morning?"

"Surely," Robin says, "but only because Little John had an inkling for a bedtime snack."

A terrible liar indeed.

"Really," Regina says. "So it is Little John's doing?"

Her lips remain curled at the corner, the gesture thoughtful and touching, somehow warming her chest. "I suppose I should thank him properly."

"Very well, but you should know he sleeps already. And the men are prone to sleeping in the nude."

Regina chuckles. "How unfortunate."

"Yes, for the ladies in waiting it has been quite the issue in the mornings. But I shall thank him on your behalf."

Regina bats her eyelashes. "I guess that will have to do. Give him this for me then." She stands on her tip-toes, for he is tall, even leaning against the wall, and with that extra height she is able to reach his face. She presses a slow kiss to the side of his face, just off the corner of his mouth.

He has shaved recently, but the stubble still tickles her lips, and he smells deeply of pine and the aroma has her lingering by his face far too long, even when her lips pull away.

"Shall I tell him anything else, Milady?"

His words are whispered and ghost across her face, playing havoc with her senses. Common sense. Good sense. Any sense. It slips from her like water through tired fingers. It is only desire that fuels her now. "Yes," she breathes heavily.

She takes his face between her hands and touches her lips to his. It is tentative at first, like she only means to thank him, but the more she feels of him, the longer she wants to continue.

His mouth opens on the second pass and she traces his lips with her tongue, before he growls into her mouth and his hands wrap around her back.

She tastes of honey, he notes, and smells of apples. Somewhat like spices, as well: cinnamon and nutmeg, with vanilla thrown in. He follows the warmth of the sweet bread along her lips and into her mouth, his tongue darting past hers, seeking entrance.

She gasps, tongue against tongue, searching deeper, sliding against teeth. Her hands move to the back of his head, his hands holding her up, for she is still too short.

It is with a breathless chuckle that she stops, hands propped against his chest to separate them. He holds her still, allowing her to lean away to look at him. His eyes are glazed and sparkle in the dimming candle light. He smiles at her, warm and inviting, but she reminds herself that they have really only just met, despite the feelings that grow between them, and as much as she desires him to stay, if only to lay by her side, she knows he has a son to get back to, and a bunch of naked Merry Men to watch over.

The thought makes her chuckle and sigh. She wants him here, but cannot take him from Roland for another night. There have been too many lonely nights for that boy already. She falls against him in an embrace. He hugs her close, her face against his shoulder, and he kisses the crown of her head.

"You don't really expect me to kiss John, do you?" he asks against her hair.

"No," she laughs, breathing him in, soaking in the warmth of his embrace, content to let him hold her for the next few minutes.

"Good," he says with a laugh. "Because John is a terrible kisser."

* * *

**So . . . your thoughts are always nice to hear. And thanks you so much for all your comments and support! : )**


	9. Chapter 9

She wakes to claws around her neck, grey and sharp, with silver tips that grate like knives.

The screeching is horrible, shrill squeals that tear at her ear drums, rippling down her spine. Monkeys. Everywhere. She can feel hot breath on her face, rancid like death. Smell the leathery wings that flap against her skin.

"Regina!'

She finds the strength to pry the claws from her throat only to find that the creature has slashed deep, cutting right through her arteries and soon her hands are stained red. She chokes on her cries, drowning in her own blood.

"Wake up."

She shakes violently from the shoulders, each spasm making it harder to breath. Where is her magic? Why can't she use it? Her hands move back and forth, calling at something from deep inside her. She feels nothing. No purple mist, no sizzling energy. It is gone.

She is completely helpless.

"Regina!"

And then she's awake, blinking like a fool, and grasping at the fuzzy image that drifts further and further away. What was it? Monkeys and magic? Her head spins and she feels dizzy. Tired, like the vision has zapped all her energy. She wants to cry, but doesn't because as much as she fears being alone, she realizes she isn't.

Robin is here, perched along her bed, pushing dark hair from her face. "You were having a nightmare," he says. He soothes. His lips brush her forehead. "Just a dream."

She settles with a shuddering breath, eyes adjusting to the night. Robin is cast in shades of grey and white, like a shadow or a ghost, but his hands on her are very real. Where has he come from, she wonders suddenly. Does he make a habit of roaming the halls at night? Or is he staying in one of the nearby rooms? Has she woken the entire castle with her screams?

She makes to sit up but his hands catch her shoulders and hold her to the bed.

His eyes are pinched, a misty blue in the moonlight. They find her face and linger there, terribly concerned and she wants to grab hold of him and never let go, use him as an anchor to keep from spiraling into the darkness she can feel resting upon her shoulders.

"Stay with me?" she asks, grabbing for the hand that still rests against her forehead.

He nods and slides in beside her, kissing her knuckles and rubbing small circles over the back of her hand. She turns to him, head tucked against his chest and sighs. Everything about him comforts her. His smell, his warmth, the deep drawl of his voice.

"Roland?" she asks, knowing she has pulled him from his son once again.

"Sleeps deeply," is his only reply before they both find the warm dregs of sleep. With him it is easier to forget. With him she feels stronger. And she wonders what she will do when the day comes for him to leave her side, to return to his forest, for surely she will break into a thousand pieces.

She holds him tight, her fingers wrapped around the front of his shirt. She can feel his heart beat through the fabric, steady, solid, and wonders what it would be like to live as an outlaw: to give up everything—her title, the royalty. To leave it all behind and become a shadow among the trees.

In the morning it is a commotion outside the door that draws both Regina and Robin out of sleep. They turn and untangle, limbs from limbs, everything resting incredibly close in the dark.

Regina sits up first, looking over Robin to the door. It opens slowly and there is a small, firm voice begging for entrance.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty," one of the attendants say, poking her head in. She is an older woman with a grey braid and kind brown eyes. "But there is someone who insists on seeing you."

The door bursts open before Regina even has the chance to nod and in runs Roland.

"Gina!" the boy calls.

Robin's mouth falls open as the boy scurries across him to reach the Queen. She welcomes him with open arms as he places a sloppy kiss to her cheek. "Feeling alright?" he says, holding her face with his small hands to inspect her.

"Yes," she tells him, dropping a quick kiss on the end of his nose.

Robin scoffs good-naturedly. "So not even a hello to your Papa?" he says, slightly offended and completely mesmerized.

Roland turns and laughs, his arms reaching out for Robin. "Papa," he squeals. "I didn't see you."

Robin snorts but cannot blame him. His son is not the only one mesmerized by the woman who they share the bed with. He reaches an arm around his son, pulling him close enough to smell that he has just had a bath. His hair is still wet and smells of lilacs.

"Papa," Roland begins. "Can we play outside?"

"Of course, my boy," Robin responds, stretching and falling back against the pillows, tugging Roland with him. He whispers in his ear and the boy laughs, squirming from Robin's grip and looks to Regina. He scrambles to his feet, touches his chest with a little bow, and requests, "Will your Majesty come too?"

His cherub face turns up in a smile. And his eyes are wide.

It stirs Regina's heart and she chuckles, catching Robin's eye. "Of course," she says. "As soon as I'm dressed."

"Come then," Robin begins, sitting up. He tucks Roland under one arm. "To the kitchens with you, boy. We must feed that growling stomach." He pauses on the edge of the bed and leans back across the covers to reach Regina's face. He kisses her awake. It is quick, but ignites sparks along her skin. "Good morning, Milady," he whispers.

Then they leave. Roland waves from atop Robins shoulder, ducking his head to avoid the top of the door frame.

Regina stares in wonder after the two, feeling content and bright and quite happy, despite the early call to rise. She thinks back to all those early mornings spent making breakfast for Henry. How many times he crawled next to her in bed, small hands tugging on hers until she woke.

With that memory and a smile she moves to her closet and once again finds a suitable dress. This one is heavier, a thick satin made for the outdoors. It is deep green, like fresh pine needles, and laces across her back. She finds an attendant to tie off the corset and then sets off to the kitchens to find Roland sitting upon the counter. He wordlessly offers her an apple from the basket Granny has set there; holding what will soon be dessert.

"Making pies!" Roland says with a full mouth. He grins at her and jumps from his seat.

"Sorry, Milady," Robin says as Roland pulls her from the room. He tosses his own apple in the air before taking a bite. "Breakfast must be on the go this morning. Little John tells us there are deer in the meadow."

They follow behind Roland who scurries down the castle halls, his travelling cloak whipping out behind him. The servant exit takes them along the back of the castle, where the ground drops in shallow rolling hills and sure enough, from the top of the hill they can see the meadow where a herd of deer have stopped to graze.

Robin settles himself in the grass, and takes Regina's hand, pulling her down next to him. Roland cheers and points, his cheeks pulled high. "Go, my boy," Robin says, sending Roland down the hill to where Little John and Will wait, huddled along the outskirts of the trees with some of the other Merry Men.

Robin smirks. "The boy will certainly scare off dinner if he keeps shrieking like that."

Regina laughs after him, watching the herd scatter. "He's just excited," she says.

She grins to her ears when Little John scoops Roland onto his shoulders, the man a giant in comparison. She hugs her knees and sighs, the morning air fresh and light, smelling heavily of honey suckle and tall grasses.

Robin gazes at her lazily, his own smile stretching. He likes what he sees very much. Her cheeks are a merry shade of pink again, so full of life. It brightens her whole appearance, as well as the smile that splits her face as she watches Roland race through the fields with his Men.

It is a lovey sight. One that plays with his heart, sending it rushing and skipping like a thousand woodland creatures set on stampede.

"Come," he says, getting suddenly to his feet. He offers her his hands and pulls her up. She rises, her dress brushing the front of his shirt. She is close and he moves to stand closer. He can feel every curve like this and his heart continues to race out of control. She is breathtaking in every way.

Reluctantly he pulls away, for he knows he would stay like this forever if she allowed it, hand in hand, eyes grazing over her face, her brown eyes and full lips, especially her lips, before dropping to her long graceful neck and the gentle swell of her breasts. He likes the colour green on her. Likes the dress that she wears today: the collar deep and the corset tight.

It is every bit respectable, but every bit of her drives him to insanity and he thinks they should walk before he does something crazy.

They walk the gardens because Regina wishes it. With no one to tend to them they have grown unfettered, tall and wild, all manner of plants clinging to the side of the castle, weaved into the ivy that crawls towards the sun.

"So this place in a land without magic," Robin asks, "is this where your son is?"

Regina stops and regards him. She is confused by his question, never having told him of Henry, but when he turns to look at her his eyes are kind and his smile sincere, and she nods to herself because he is smart, smart enough to overhear conversations.

"Little boys with brown hair and brown eyes," he says, reminding her of her own words. The words that seemed to have been uttered so long ago. "The way you looked at Roland this morning, the way you always look at him, it is only the way a mother would look at their child."

She nods again, understanding and tucking away the information. This man is beginning to find the chinks in her armor. More and more every day. It is terrifying and exhilarating and maybe just a little bit of a relief. She doesn't have to stand as tall next to him, or guard her expressions. Beside him she can just be. For he sees through her anyhow, picks apart her words and finds the core beneath them.

He has a hand in the pool of secrets she keeps close.

"Yes and no," she says finally. "Storybrooke was destroyed when the curse returned us here. But I know he is safe and that is the one comfort that keeps me going."

Robin nods, understanding the sacrifice of a mothers love. Marian had given up her life so that Roland could live, had refused something that could save her life because it would take his.

"It is difficult to lose the ones we love," Robin tells her. "But have faith that one day you will find him again."

Regina swallows the emotion in her voice and squeezes his hand. "I do," she says. "If I've learned anything from Snow and Charming after all these years it's to have hope."

"Hope is a very powerful thing."

"Yes," Regina says. "Especially in this family."

The rest of the day is filled with lazy moments and gentle kisses.

It isn't until dinner that Robin leaves Regina, for he and his men have been called to council with Charming and his knights. With their absence the dining hall is rather quiet and some minstrels begin plucking at stringed instruments, filling the room with a slow, melodic hum.

It is comforting music, Regina notes. Of the old world. Something she would here passing day-fairs as a girl.

Roland sits a little ways down the table and looks at her quizzically, because people have started to dance, and it looks like fun, but there is no one around his age, most of all a girl, and it would be silly to ask Little John when he returns with his Papa, so he tips his head and wonders.

He follows his wonder and walks to where Regina sits, close to the doors, like she means to escape when a break in the music comes.

He stands beside her and bites his lip, fingers clasped tightly behind his back as he rocks back and forth, nearing the point of actually asking her.

She looks up from the table, from her plate which is still not empty, and her wine glass, which is still full of amber liquid.

"Will you dance?" he asks, eyes wide and earnest. "With me?" He grins to his ears when she sets her glass down and makes to stand. "I don't know how," he informs her when she takes the hand he offers.

"Come then," she says. "And I will show you."

She shows him where his feet go and how to slide across the slick castle floors, but his feet are uncoordinated and he trips. Regina holds his hands and guides him still, until they decide on a similar square movement that takes them to the same four tiles over and over, but they are laughing now and it is to that sound that Robin enters the hall.

He slips into a dark corner and watches them. His son and the woman who has captured his heart. The two people who he cannot possibly live without.

"You are good for her, too."

Robin looks over to find that Snow has stopped beside him to watch the dancers as well.

"She finds happiness with you and Roland," she says. "I didn't think she'd be able to after Henry." Snow's smile falters then as she looks from Regina to Robin. "She holds her heart tightly and if she gives it to you, you cannot hurt her."

"I would never," Robin says. He gathers himself up and faces Snow White. "I know you worry for her, but I promise you, I will not leave her."

Snow presses a hand against his shoulder. "I know." She bids him farewell and leaves him to his thoughts. When the sun drops low and his boy grows tired, he watches as Regina scoops him up, twirling to the last few chords of the music.

She leaves the dining hall with him on her hip and lays him gently in his bed.

When she returns to her room she is pleased to find Robin waiting by the window.

"What was it that you were showing Roland?" he asks while Regina pulls down the bed.

"The dance?" she asks, not really looking at him, but not ignoring him either. He can see her brows pucker in question. "I didn't know you were there."

"Yes," Robin says, getting to his feet. "I've never seen him so happy."

Regina ducks her head as his finger comes out to trace her jaw and down her neck. He stands behind her. She can feel his breath on her back. "It was nothing. Just something I learned as a girl," she says, leaning against his chest. "He is still too small."

"Show me," Robin asks.

"What?" She looks up now, turning to him, her features schooled in surprise. He is insistent, his hands reaching for her and she pulls her own against her chest. "I—I can't remember very well."

"It will come back to you," he says, tugging on her sleeve.

"There is no music."

"Shall I sing to you?"

His face is close to hers as he draws her in, her wrists pulled against his chest.

He wraps them in his hands and steps back, holding her an arm's length away. He nods and she curtseys and they move—three steps to the left, three to the right—all while making a slow circle. Soon the movements pick up, then they halt.

Robin backs away; hand still tucked around hers and falls into a low bow.

Regina pauses, for Robin is no longer following, but leading. He looks up with a charming grin. "I too learned dances as a boy," he says, before twisting her back to his side.

His hands fall against her waist.

"But I much preferred the royal dances. The ones like this."

He trails his hand along her hip, guiding her against him, while his other hand moves to take hers. She falls in line with him, her hand on his shoulder, the other eclipsed by his warm palm. It has been a long, long time since she's had reason to dance like this, had anyone to hold her like this.

It stills her heart and captures her breath, but when she looks up at him, so close, so firm and constant beside her, it all rushes back and she feels a hot blush run against her cheeks.

He spins her and she smiles, laughs when he dips her, only to pull her up and hold her tighter. "How do I compare to the boy, Milady?"

"His footwork leaves something to be desired," Regina answers thoughtfully. "But his charm more than makes up for it." She lays her head against Robin's shoulder. "Where did you learn to dance like this?" she asks.

"When I was younger, before becoming a man, my father would host stately parties. I would watch from the bay windows of my bedroom, which used to overlook the foyer and see the men and women dance."

"Hmm," Regina answers, her lips muffled against his shoulder. He came from wealth. A lord's son perhaps. She wonders what led him to the forest.

"To hold someone this close," Robin continues. "To move as one. It's peaceful in a way that cannot be explained. Only felt."

"Will you teach Roland to dance?" she asks.

"I think he'd much prefer learning from you."

"Yes, well, he is still a bit short," she chuckles.

"Then he shall just have to watch." He spins her again, leaving her stomach light and fluttering. It's bliss. She wants the feeling to last forever.

He dances with her for what feels like hours.

She is dizzy and thrilled by the closeness, happy when he settles them down on the window ledge for a rest.

Against the backdrop of night, in the cool air he kisses her, swift and fleeting, a rush of impulse and feeling. He pulls away quickly for the need he feels for her is great tonight and he does not think he can lie still beside her, if she wishes it, with thoughts like that in his head.

"Robin?" she asks and bites her lip, her eyes questioning as he pulls away. She does not want him to. She wants more of him, all of him, as much as he is willing to give her on this night.

His hands reach out to steady them, separate them. He grimaces like the distance causes him pain. "You are still recovering, Milady. Don't push yourself."

Regina grins and shakes her head like a girl in love but her voice comes out deep and raspy. "I will decide how far I am able to go."

Robin chuckles as she pulls his face towards hers. "There is a point where there is no going back," he tells her when their lips part for breath.

Regina's smile is both shy and playful. She looks up at him, tracing along his jaw with her fingers, peppering his face with hot, open-mouthed kisses. "I plan to make it there."

She kisses him again and with a groan Robin finds her hips and whisks her to the bed, their bodies fighting against gravity as they tumble into the sheets together.

* * *

**Ack! . . . We're almost there. (Does outlaw queen sexy times dance) I didn't want this part of the relationship to feel rushed . . . because Regina is not a floosy. She is still our stubborn, smart, magic-wielding, kick-butt Queen. She's just in love. (happy sighs) But Robin has saved her several times and been a noble gentleman and you can only fight true love for so long. So, if anyone hasn't been paying attention, the rating on this fic is M, just a notice, your virgin eyes have been warned. But alas, we must get angsty before we get some outlaw queen smut, because, as a wonderful reviewer pointed out earlier, Regina still has not seen the lion tattoo. Duh, duh, DAY-UM!**

**Thanks for reading. I like your face and your thoughts. Please share them with me in a review : )**


	10. Chapter 10

The room is dim, cast in the gentlest of glows from the candle dying on the night stand. Everything she sees comes in highlights and shadow. But what she feels is very real.

Robin covers her with his body, his forearms supporting his weight as their mouths glide as one. He is tall and strong, his weight welcomed, his kisses warm.

Regina turns her face and smiles, seeking air, and Robin trails his lips across her jaw and down her neck, settling over her pulse point which has her groaning, both hands wrapping around his biceps.

She feels the muscles tense and roll under her touch.

"You are beautiful," he whispers against her neck, his warm words brushing her skin, sending hot shivers down her spine. The sensations collide and pool in her chest before sinking towards her lower stomach.

She rolls her hips, finding his deliciously close.

She wants this. Wants him. Likes the way his hands trail her thighs through her dress, slowly gathering the material between them, the anticipation of his hand on her bare thigh sending her mind whirring and her lips crashing into his with fervent, indescribable lust.

His hand finds a way beneath the layers of fabric from her skirt, his skin fire against hers.

She feels his fingers trace her thigh, moving higher beneath her dress and she moans. His other hand comes up to graze her face, knuckles falling over her cheeks bones in slow strokes.

"Beautiful," he says again, his forearm resting beside her head. And this is when she sees it, as his sleeve drags back, as the moon strikes the bed. And it almost chokes the breath from her.

How has she not noticed before?

The lion tattoo, as plain as day, and as dark as night, etched into his skin.

"Stop," she says suddenly, breathlessly, pulling away from him with urgency. It is the sheer panic in her eyes, a look he isn't prepared for now, that leaves him rigid and frozen beside her. His hand traces her cheek but she shivers against him, not in pleasure, but something else entirely, something that almost makes him sick.

"Milady?" he asks, gentle and unsure.

"Get out," she says, squirming beneath him. "Please."

Robin rolls to his side, freeing her. "Regina, I don't understand —"

"Just go." It is a request and a command and she wants to just disappear in a cloud of smoke but she fights the urge. She turns from him instead and holds her arms against her chest, holds them close to still the painful beating of her heart.

_You have ruined his life as well_. Tinkerbell's words echo in her head from so long ago, another lifetime it seems. She can't even look at him now. She stands and moves from the bed. "Go!" she begs.

She turns to the window, away from him and his pleas, her shoulders squared until she hears the door close and then she collapses, her hands gathering in the bed sheets that pool on the floor. For hours she remains there, under the moon, and cries, grieving the loss of something she should never have had, for he has no idea what she has done to him.

That first night is the longest she's endured in a long time, but her heart weighs nothing less with the coming of day.

She manages to avoid him the next morning by rising before the sun, which is good because her eyes are red and swollen and she does not think she can survive another bought of hot, itchy tears. She sits in the kitchen and helps Granny peel potatoes until dawn breaks and breakfast is laid out, if only to distract her. Granny glares, with one eyebrow hooked, but doesn't say a word. She leaves with a stack of trays, heading off the usual hoard of Merry Men that parade around her kitchen, stealing bread over her shoulder, and it is with a gentle smile that Regina thanks her, because she is not up to seeing any of them. She is not ready.

Once she had eaten she returns to her room, and locks the door, only leaving once the sun has set and all the servants have made their way to their rooms for the night.

The castle is big, but in these hours that follow the unsettling revelation she does not think it is big enough.

For Robin is a thief and he moves like shadow, and to see his face now, when she has waited so long to find him will only break her heart, because she had let him go once before, left him at the tavern because she was not ready to let go of the anger, and now that she has she can't be with him. Not him, because she has been responsible for shattering his world already before.

She ignored fates call and left him. Left him to love freely and to lose that love, to raise his son without a mother, to take to a life of shadow and crime, and if she had loved him then, when she should have, perhaps the misery he has lived would have never been. Perhaps the little boy that tugs Regina close at mealtimes would have be theirs together.

So kissing him is wrong and the image of the lion tattoo etched into his skin shatters her heart because she sees now that he has no choice in the matter. He can't help but love her.

Love the Evil Queen.

She is poisoned and has done truly wretched things. She deserves the pain she gets.

She cannot be so selfish as to draw him down that path, the path of unforgiving retribution, for she will always walk that path alone, no matter how she tries to redeem herself.

There are things she has done that should not be forgiven, and for every good thing she has done since then, to try and rectify her wrongs, there will always be a list of wrongdoings lined up for her to see.

She will never be enough.

So he can't love her.

Shouldn't.

But he does.

Because fate writes it so.

And that is perhaps the cruelest part of their story.

He is forced to love her, never having known that she abandoned him once already.

She is the reason his life has worked out this way. It is not fate that brings them together with second chances, no, this is the fate that works cruelly, eliminating what should not be and forcing together what has been written.

She is the reason his wife is dead.

The reason Henry is lost.

Everything terrible thing that has ever happened in their lives is because she was not willing to give up the anger.

To free herself and be happy.

And now she can never be happy. It is true, for villains don't get happy endings.

Robin deserves more than that kind of life. He deserves more than her.

Regina walks a lonely path to the basement and finds a plate set out in the kitchens, left on the top of the stove to warm. It is from Granny and she sighs, pulling at the chicken, because fate has made fools of them all.

She leaves when her plate is cleared. Crying and fretting and analyzing every bad decision she has ever made has left her famished. Regina walks the empty halls to the tune of her own footsteps, holding the shadow and avoiding the moonlit patches of window that light the dusky castle corridors.

He moves from the shadows then, falling from his perch, and landing beside her with quite grace. His appearance is so sudden that it startles her speechless, knocks her against the wall with a hand curled over her mouth.

"Did you intend to hide from me forever?" he asks as he straightens, a sad smirk on his face. His eyes are silver in the moonlight and weary. He has never looked so torn, she thinks. But the hand that reaches for him is quickly returned to her side because every fleeting glance and touch is another wound to the gut, another reason for him to resent her when this all unravels, when he understands.

She cannot love him.

Cannot let herself want him.

She is the one who must pull away. For his sake.

For Roland's.

She turns away from him, her steps brisk, her mind set; ignoring the steady hum of her heart because the mindless organ is a traitor ad leaves her aching and longing. If she has any sense she will rip it from her chest and toss it off the tallest tower.

"Regina!" Robin implores, taking her hand, his fingers lacing between hers in a vice-like lock. "Please do not walk away from me."

She is turned towards him, her hand shooting out to brace the impact of their bodies as the speed catches her off guard. His hand drops to hold her waist, hold her to him and she cringes below the touch, pulls away from it, because she wants it so bad she thinks she might be insane.

"Let me go," she requests through tight lips. "I'd like to return to my room now."

"Not until you talk to me. What has happened? If I have done something to offend you or —"

"I owe no answers to a thief," she says, wrenching her hand from his. It is quiet and broken, but enough of the Queen has bled through and Robin is frozen in his boots as she marches away from him.

It isn't until she reaches the third staircase that she allows the tears to fall. She does not care at that point because no one is around to hear her cry. She falls against the top step and holds the railing, shuddering uneven breaths, for love is a terrible thing.

For days they exist like this, invisible shadows, because Regina wishes it so. She does not eat in the dining room. She does not turn to Roland when he calls after her. And she does not answer her door when the thief knocks.

The first time Snow tries to ask her about it Regina denies her assumptions. Granny knows, she thinks, that something is amiss, but never shuts Regina out of the kitchen, and continues to head off the Merry Men in the mornings.

Snow doesn't have the chance to ask again because before she can Regina has decided to leave.

It is two painfully long weeks, seconds and minutes and hours that tear at her soul. Everything reminds her of him. It stabs and needles and grates on her nerves until she snaps, unable to bear any more time trapped within the walls of the castle. That morning she finds a healthy steed in the stables, saddles the horse, and rides off, leaving behind the security of the grounds.

Leaving Robin.

* * *

**Ack . . . I know. Gosh! Short and angsty, the worst kinds of chapters. I'm sorry, but it was necessary. Really, truly. The next chapter is 76. 12345% written, so if I can get my act together it might be posted tomorrow : ) **


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter is rated M.**

* * *

Granny waits in the morning light, gray curls pulled back in a tight working bun. She supports the trays of breakfast with steady fingers, waiting by the foot of the main stairwell as she has for the last two weeks. Robin greets her with a tired half-smile, accepting the food.

"How is she?" he asks, as he does every morning and every evening, and sometimes in between, knowing Regina has taken to seeking company with the old wolf.

"The Queen has not come to me yet today," Granny sighs, fiddling with her apron. "And her room is empty."

"Empty?" Robin says, the line between his eyes deepening. "When is it you last spoke with her?"

"Yesterday at lunch," the woman replies. "It is worrying."

"Yes," Robin says, eyes darkening in concern. He bids Granny farewell and ascends to the second floor, leaving his Merry Men to the food and Little John to the task of watching Roland.

He uses the back stairwell to get to the floor where Regina stays. Her door is closed. His hand trembles over the latch. She has not wanted to see him, wished him away even, so he does not mean to intrude on her, only to be sure that Granny is not mistaken. He thinks it a casualty of love, but he wishes her wrath more than he wishes to know that she is missing. "Regina," he calls softly, waiting for some sign that she moves inside. A reply or a protest. Even a cruel comment that does not befit her anymore.

To his fear it is silent.

He grabs the door handle, brass creaking under his fist, and pushes against heavy wood, finding nothing but the fresh rays of light spilling in the open window. Robin crosses the room in panic. Regina's night clothes are laid over the end of the bed. He lays his hands against the pillow where she slept. The sheets are cold. She has been gone for hours.

He turns quickly and scours the room, putting his tracking skills to use. Regina's travelling cloak is missing from the closet and she has left her shoes in favour of a pair of leather riding boots.

Robin turns to the window again, stares out against the rolling fields, shoulders sagging. From here he can see the stables, the long white boarding house the horses are kept in, and he is certain that is where she went.

Robin rushes from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He gathers in the grand entrance, a mass of people already stationed there.

Charming and the princess are at the center of the group, calling for attention.

"Robin," Charming begins, picking the thief out of the crowd. "Ruby and the dwarves have returned. They bring news from the Dark Castle." He lays a hand on Robin's shoulder. "Gather your men to the dining hall —"

"I'm sorry," Robin says, turning from him. "It must wait. The Queen is gone."

"Gone?" the prince says. His forehead gathers in the middle.

"Yes. This morning."

Snow comes up by Charming and Robin turns to her. "She didn't say something, did she?"

"Regina? No," Snow says. "I thought . . . she isn't in her room?"

"No. She has been gone for some time now."

"She wouldn't leave the grounds," Snow says. Assures them. "She knows how dangerous it would be."

"But she has been in terrible spirits," Robin says. "If she means to leave then perhaps she no longer cares."

"She wouldn't risk it," Snow says again. "And where would she go anyway?"

"The Summer Palace," Charming offers.

"It is a three days ride," Snow says. She frowns deeply, her hand wrapped tightly around her husband's arm. "You don't think?"

"Where is this —" Robin's question falls off.

"Hey, sister," Grumpy says, bargaining into the conversation as he so often does. "Sleepy here said he saw something while on guard duty this morning. Something to do with Regina."

Robin turns expectantly. "Speak, dwarf," he says. "What did you see?"

Sleepy is ushered along by his fellow dwarves until he is directly in front of Charming and Snow. "The Queen was in the stables early this morning, saddling a horse."

"And?" Robin says. "Did you see where she rode?"

Sleepy shakes his head and stifles a yawn behind his hand. "It was early and it wasn't the first time the Queen has roamed the stables. I didn't think much of it."

Robin straightens and pushes his way through the crowd.

"Hey! Where're you going?" Grumpy calls after him, sidestepping Charming to track Robin through the crowd.

"To find her."

"Think again," Grumpy says. "There's a dark storm brewing on the horizon. The sky glows red."

"The weather is the least of my concerns right now."

Grumpy shakes his head. "Something wicked is blowing in. Trust me pal, you don't want to be out there when it hits."

Not a trace of resignation flashes through Robin's eyes. Only determination, more now than before. He must find Regina before the storm hits.

Charming steps forward. "Robin, wait out the storm at least, we will gather a party and go out together."

"I can't rest," he says. "Not while I know she is out there. Please, a direction is all I need."

It is Snow who offers up the information, because she sees the look of pure desperation in his eyes, a look she has witnessed and held on her own many times before. The path to love is never easy, it can break a person, but she knows the strength of its call and cannot stand in the way of him following where his heart leads. If he will not listen to reason then she will at least tell him what she knows.

"The Summer Palace is three days to the West by the main road. Regina will be riding though, and she knows of a short cut along the river. That is where you will find her, I am sure of it."

Robin closes her hands in his and nods his head. "Thank you, princess."

Snow smiles. "Be safe, my friend."

And with that, Robin flees the castle. He rides with the wind, his horse carrying along the currents with breakneck speed. There is a clear trail, one cut out along the tall weeds that grow near the river that leads to the Summer Palace. Just as Snow said, that is indeed where Regina means to go.

He doesn't spend very much time tracking for Regina hardly leaves the trail. He sees where she has stopped twice, probably for rest. Being on a horse for long hours is hard on any person, but for someone who still has poison running through her veins, it will be taxing. He sees again a place that she has veered off, dropping to a low lying creek bed to water her horse.

All the while Robins hunts for her, the sky above him becomes a dangerous bed of grey clouds. They roll over him, angry and unforgiving.

He passes a small cottage, tucked away in a nest of pines. The grass there is still dewy where the horse's trail cuts. The Queen is not far now.

"Regina!" he calls when he finds her. She is leaned against her horse, cleaning off the shoes.

She turns at his approach, her eyes going from wide to narrow in a matter of seconds. From relief to misery. He sees it there, how hard she works to turn him away, to act as if the separation between them doesn't drain her.

"I did not ask for you to follow me, thief. Though you seem to make a bad habit of it." She turns back to the horse, placing its foot gently on the ground. She moves to her saddle, hoisting herself up, and edges the horse on through the trees.

Robin guides his own horse, weaving a parallel trail until he heads her off. "Milady. You know you are not supposed to leave the grounds."

She sticks her chin up, never one to be told what she can and cannot do. "I am free to go where I please. Last I checked I was not a prisoner."

"Don't be like this," Robin pleads with her.

"Like what?" she snaps. "Perhaps this is the real me. You just never knew me as well as you thought you did."

"This is not the real you," Robin says, pulling his horse back to keep Regina in place. She tries again to slip by him.

She sighs exasperatedly, dropping her reins. "And how would you know?"

"Because if this is truly the way you wish to be then you wouldn't be so miserable and you would not be running away."

She says nothing. But a red crack of lightning above breaks the silence.

"We must find shelter," Robin insists, eyes scanning the darkness above. "There isn't much time."

The rain starts as feathery drops, light and invisible until it lands on exposed skin.

"There is a tavern in the next village that will have room," Regina says, though she means not to invite Robin along. "I will go there. You may do as you wish."

The rain falls heavier, a booming rush of thunder whipping through the trees.

"I did not ride all the way out here to leave your side at the first sight of rain," Robin says. His face is so heartbreakingly sincere that Regina almost drops the reins and throws herself at him, longing to wrap her arms around his neck.

Another clap of thunder knocks her senses straight.

"Lucky me," she drawls.

"Milady," Robin says. "The next village is too far. You will catch your death."

"Don't be so dramatic," she says. "We can make it." At that moment a giant stick of lightning pierces the sky. Moments later thunder rings out again, shaking the trees to their roots and sending the horses braying wildly.

"I am not dramatic. You are being ridiculous," Robin says, spitting the water from his face. The sky has opened up now and they are drenched in seconds.

He grabs the reins from her hands and leads her horse to the small cottage he saw earlier.

"We don't know who lives there," Regina protests as Robin pulls the horses below the porch roof. It is no barn, but it will do. He ties them off, knotting the reins around the thick beam that supports the doorway.

"No one, most likely," he says. "A lot of these homes were abandoned during the ogre wars." He nods to the windows, covered in a heavy filth.

"Wonderful," Regina says. "Trespassing on a dead man's home."

"I said _abandoned_," Robin says. "That doesn't mean they are dead." He knocks the door back with his shoulder. It takes three heavy hits for the wooden latch to budge and when it does they are met with a heavy pine smell.

The wind howls and with no more protesting on Regina's part they move inside.

The small cottage is deeper than it is wide, and Robin makes a quick round of the house — the front entrance, the kitchen, and the bedroom — declaring it clear for their use.

He shrugs out of his cloak, leaving the wet garment over the back of a chair. He sets to work at once, kindling a small fire in the old stone fireplace. He stokes the old wood there and it burns freely, growing until it fills the expanse of the square stone bed.

He backs up a little, settling on a bench that runs along the living area. It is closest to the fire.

Regina has watched him silently all this time, though he has already told her twice to take off her cloak, for it is soaked and will only leave her chilled longer. He did not move to help her though, for he knew she would resist, but even she sees the wisdom in common sense, so she removes her cloak and lays it alongside Robin's.

She sets herself down away from him. It takes her away from the fire, away from the warmth her fingers tremble for, but the ache in her chest presses her more and she doesn't want to suffocate under it.

She chooses instead to freeze.

"Am I so appalling that you can't even bare to sit by me now?"

Regina tips her head and sighs. "Don't do this here. Not now." _Not while I cannot escape,_ is what she means to say.

Robin turns to her, arms folded loosely across his chest. "Then where else, Regina, because you won't give me a second look in the castle. This is the closest you've let me get to you in weeks."

"Not by choice, I assure you." Her biting remark doesn't even sting because he can tell there's no effort behind it, only hurt and loss. Finally she sighs and says, "It's better this way."

"For who?"

"You don't understand."

"I've been trying to, but you won't say a word to me. What have I done wrong?" He moves beside her, resting his hands on her trembling knees. "Please," he says. "Have I not at least earned the truth?"

She doesn't say anything for a long minute, just stares into the crystal depths of his eyes, where she feels herself tumbling, lost and found at once. Then she reaches for his sleeve, pushing it past his wrist. "This," she says, thumb tracing over the lion etched into his skin. She doesn't even have to look down to see that it is there.

His brows pinch. His lips turned up in question.

"When I was younger I was led to a tavern by a fairy named Tinkerbell," Regina tells him. "She told me my true love sat in there. A man with a lion tattoo." Her hand drops, letting his sleeve cover the fateful mark once again.

"Me," Robin says, voice thick and heavy. He watches her, the pain that crosses her features, the desperate way her hands reach for his but stop before they make contact. His expression changes to something light, maybe even hopeful.

Regina simply shakes her head. "You have no choice but to love me, Robin."

He laughs, a deep, happy sound that sends Regina's heart skipping. "Then I consider myself lucky, because men spend their entire life hoping to find that one person and you just walk into my life." He holds her face in his hands, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. "Don't be in such a hurry to walk out of it."

Regina's hands find his finally, pulling them away from her face. His touch is soft, his moves gentle, but she cannot let herself be overwhelmed by him. Not while he doesn't understand. "What if one day you realize that you don't want someone with such a dark heart? Someone who has already let you suffer because I could not let go of my anger long enough to see the life we could have had?"

Robin shakes his head and tells her otherwise. "I don't care about your past, only our future, together. This is a second chance for us both." His hand threads through hers, pulling it against his heart. "My conscience is no clearer than yours. There are things I have done that will haunt me until I die, and there are things I regret but would do again a hundred times over because it brought me my son."

And that is where she stills, her heart frozen for a beat, for that is where he understands her the most, because after everything she's done, the one thing she can never regret is Henry.

But it is all too much. She turns her head and pulls away from him.

"Regina, stop," he begs, doing everything he can to hang onto her. He is determined not to let her go this time. Not without a fight. "This is madness."

"Exactly."

"If your wishes are to have me leave you then I will, but please don't push me away because you are afraid."

"I am not afraid," she says, straightening her shoulders. "Of you or . . . or . . ." The words are lost to her. She's not sure what she means to say anymore. The line between truth and lie blurring.

"You are afraid of _you_, Regina. You don't trust yourself," Robin says. "The goodness I see right here." He places his hand just above her breast, letting the shallow thump of her heart soothe them both. He has missed that feeling. The closeness of her. The heat of her skin.

She laces her hand over his. "There is nothing but darkness there, Robin. And there always will be. Once a dark heart, always a dark heart."

"You are wrong, Milady. For I see light. In the way you love Roland and in the way you love Snow and offer aid to those in need even at great personal risk. There is good in this heart. And if you can't believe me then believe your son, because I know for a fact children change us. There is no way you can love him as fiercely as you do, separated by worlds, and still believe yourself to be the Evil Queen."

His words touch something deep inside her, a basic truth that even she cannot deny. A silent tear drops to her cheek and rolls a wet path over her chin.

Robin reaches beneath her chin and tips her face up, wiping the tear away.

"You are full of light," he whispers, breath so close she can smell the minty earth on him. His leans, closer and closer, and she does not stop him. His lips fall against hers and she kisses him with fervent energy, weeks of restrained passion pouring into that one touch. It is a slow, drawn out kiss, one that makes her heart skip.

Her hands thread into his hair, his own hand curling around the bottom of her jaw. Tongues meet and dance, fighting for dominance, each swipe kindling flames into a raging fire.

Robin is slow to pull away. He only does because his hands have traced their way down Regina's arms, coming to her fingers, and they stiffen like icicles against his palms.

"Come by the fire," he says, guiding her forward, standing with her near the heated brick. "You are freezing," Robin says against her neck, the words making her shiver. He runs a hand over her wet clothes, his fingers resting at the small of her back.

Slowly he unties the corset that surrounds her middle, setting the strings aside. He pulls the fabric away with the heavy skirt, leaving her in a pale white slip. The warmth radiating off the stone seeps into her skin then, burying deep inside her bones, chasing away the chill.

Robin's hands roam, over her shoulders and down her bare arms, seeking permission. Permission to touch her, to hold her. It is just the slip that separates them now, and he feels very much alive, as his hands glide over the silky white threads that tie her hips.

Regina slides her hands along his chest, breaking through the buttons that hold the front of his shirt together. His skin is wet beneath, tight muscles slipping under her fingers. Her fingers roam the planes of his stomach before pulling the shirt off his shoulders. It slaps to the floor, catching her attention. She looks up in his eyes.

"Milady," Robin breathes, swallowing.

She takes his hands, still resting on her hips and guides them forward. "Touch me," she says. And it is all he needs.

He pulls on the strings that lace the slip just under her breasts, opening the dress from the front. He pulls the slip over one shoulder, his hand falling against her collar bone, dragging up towards her face. "Milady," he says, his forehead brushing hers. He exhales in a shudder. "You are simply stunning."

Regina feels the heat in her cheeks. She has never been shy about her figure, or being with a man, but the scars on her abdomen that have yet to fade make her slightly more aware of everywhere his eyes roam. Where they stop and still. Where his fingers itch to trail.

"You are sure?" he asks, desperate for her but unsure. He can't bear for her to reject him again.

"Yes," she tells him. "Very much."

He leads her to the bedroom then. It is cooler than where they stand by the fire, but the electricity sparking between them is enough to keep them warm. Robin pulls Regina against him, her back to his chest, and sets them on the bed. He settles against the pillows, with Regina's head on his shoulder.

His hands move freely over her hips and down the top of her thighs, massaging, feeling, before travelling up towards her breasts. She arches against him, her backside pushing against his already straining trousers.

He's slow in his ministrations and everywhere his fingers roam she is set ablaze, fire kindling in her belly. It is a delicious heat, glowing and warm, that spreads with his fingers across her stomach, dipping beneath her groin and settling in her core.

Soon the fire becomes need.

She groans as his hands travel the path towards her center, both firm and commanding, seeking their target. The anticipation has her mind spinning and she arches unconsciously the closer he gets.

"Love," he whispers in her ear as her feet dig into the mattress, anchoring her position. Her hand is braced on the outside of his thigh, the other wrapped tightly in the sheets.

He kisses her neck slowly, leaving a trail across her shoulder. Hot kisses. Wet open mouthed kisses, teeth dragging along her skin, covered only by a flick of his tongue.

She moans when his fingers reach her womanhood, rubbing perfect circles around it. She inhales, sharp and fast, and thinks this might be her undoing, but he pulls back again, one hand trailing back up to her breast. He brushes the pad of his finger over a nipple, pulling it taut to a peak before massaging the breast under his palm.

She breathes in short puffs and her hand flies up to meet his, covering it with her own. She catches his other hand, resting along her thigh and pulls it to her other breast, catching the mound in his warm embrace.

She bucks slowly, the tension building as she grinds herself into him unconsciously. Needy. When he pinches a nipple she gasps, back lifting.

"Robin," she begs, and he allows her to guide his right hand to her center, the other kneading her breast still.

She guides him between her folds once more and everything is heightened. With her in the lead, positioning his fingers, Robin begins an impossibly slow pace, turning her eyes fuzzy with desire.

He runs a finger over her womanhood again, light and slow, then harder and harder, her own fingers pressing him on. Then he drops two fingers inside her and she chokes back the cry. She wants more. Needs more. She pushes herself against him, sliding against his chest, then back down, thrusting onto his fingers. His thumb shoots out delicately, tracing her pleasure until she sees stars.

She comes quietly for him, biting her lip to shelter the scream that growls behind her tongue. Her eyes close against the pleasure, her core seizing around his fingers.

He makes two more passes along her womanhood, drawing out the feelings to ultimate, almost unbearable completeness. She is lost in him, her hips jerking erratically with the tingling bliss.

Every thrust rocks her against him, but he holds her tight, hands running up and down her thighs, pulling her back from the clouds.

She collapses in a puff of breath, limbs weak, her back against his chest. As her breathing calms, his arms snake around her front and intertwine against her stomach. He kisses the top of her shoulder again, moving his lips softly against her skin, pulling and sucking, marking the tender flesh.

She is calm against him; content even, he hopes, smelling of apples and cinnamon. It is her hair and her skin, but now there is a steamy, hungry musk that fills the air and it makes his head spin. "You are wonderful," he whispers. "Truly."

Robin draws up the covers and they sleep like that. Regina warm and naked, draped over his body, his arms holding her tight, rising with her breath.

They wake mere hours later when the rain above has lessened to a gentle hum. Robin kisses the side of her face; she turns against him, then he kisses her lips. She feels him through his pants, bursting with need for her.

She rolls off him, a smile stretching her lips, and pulls his arm so he leans over her. He supports his weight on his forearms while she undoes his pants, freeing his member. She pulls the pants down with her feet, getting them to his ankles before she feels his fingers enter her, testing her.

She is still wet for him. Wanting.

She groans at the intrusion and spreads her legs, welcoming his hips between her thighs.

Her hands find the tight, sculpted range of his shoulders and she digs her nails into them as he lines up to enter her, the tip of his manhood brushing her folds. She presses him on with a jerk of her hips, feeling the same white-hot rush of fire erupt in her belly.

With a gentle thrust he pushes into her, burying the tip. He presses his head into her shoulder and groans through his constraint. She feels him pulsing and her desire to be filled with him has her legs wrapping around his waist, forcing him deeper. It is an unrestrained thrust that follows.

He jerks and stills, worried he has hurt her, but he looks upon her face, into the deep abyss of her eyes and sees only desire.

He thrusts again, groaning his pleasure. Regina arches to meet him as he pulls out and thrusts forward again. Soon their pace meets perfectly, up and down, in and out. It is the tension that speeds the release. Robin pumps erratically, growing close and Regina cannot meet him any more for her legs have become jello and her core throbs for him. She lets him continue on his own, hooking her feet around his back to secure her to him. His hands reach behind her back and his feet push against the footboard, giving him leverage, finding himself deeper still.

When he pulls out and thrusts back this time, Regina explodes and her walls clench hard, wonderfully hard, sending electricity up and down her spine, right to her brain. It is so much more with him inside her: the feelings, the pleasure, the sheer bliss. She cries out, unintelligible. Robin follows her, spilling himself as her walls grab him, and he moans against her chest, leaving hot, gasping breaths against her skin.

She holds him within her, hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as they both fall slowly from the high. He pulls out of her, but pulls her flush, refusing to lose the closeness of what they have just shared.

They find sleep again, beneath the covers and dream as sweet as summer.

Robin is the first to wake when the rain has turned to drizzle. The first to lay in utter amazement of the half covered woman beside him, though surely she is a goddess he muses, or an angel fallen from heaven. He trails a finger down her arm and over her hip, the two places that somehow manage to escape the confines of the white sheet.

And he marvels at how lucky he is to have found her. And he whispers this to her, like a lullaby, as simple and soft as the wind whispers through the trees.

* * *

**Okay, so posted a little later than I planned. But smut is a complicated thing to write. : P**


End file.
